


Pater Meus Diabolo

by favefangirl



Series: 5 Days of Fanficmas [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Arranged Marriage, Boyfriends, Drarry, F/M, Famous, M/M, Quidditch, fame universe, hollywood universe, in the closet, innuendos, missunderstandings, romione, shit load of irrelivent characters, sort of, sport boyfriends, supportive boyfriends, teammates, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8940367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favefangirl/pseuds/favefangirl
Summary: Quidditch co-captains Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter must navigate the tricky world of fame and sport, playing nice with the media and not losing their minds, all the while keeping their secrets, well, secret. Easier said than done when you're both trying to do what's best for everyone and you're both just making things worse.OR: The one where Draco and Harry would work better if they actually communicated.





	

"... _And England will take to the pitch of the Quidditch World Cup for the first time in sixty years. Coming out of the tunnels to meet the referee is Cade Aushtaine, captain and beater for the Swedish team. And, you can tell by the massive eruption from the crowd here today that from the other tunnel, co-captains of the England team, Keeper Draco Malfoy and Seeker Harry Potter!"_

As Harry and Draco made their way onto the pitch, carrying their Nimbus 6002's over their shoulders, the crowd erupted in an almighty cheer. Both of the England player's faces stayed neutral, but they stopped walking, Harry opening his arms to welcome the spectators. This just made the volume and the cries become louder as the image of everyone's favourite players filled the huge screens suspended in the air. Harry's lips twitched into a quick smile, before he school his features once more.

_"... Would you look at that! I tell you, there's a reason they were voted everyone's favourite Quidditch players 2016! Did you know Potter is the youngest person ever to make it onto the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Quidditch Team aged just eleven! That little Gryffindor boy could never have guessed he'd end up here today, about to lead his team in the Quidditch World Cup Finals!"_

Harry and Draco walked over to the referee, Cymbeline Courtance, and their adoring fans' cheers followed them. Cymbeline grinned at them as they reached her, Cade Aushtaine didn't. It was no secret that Potter And Malfoy were the most profitable names in the Quidditch industry. Potter became the face of Nimbus when they signed him after his first game, and Malfoy signed to Weasley's Quidditch fashion line, designed by Ronald Weasley himself.

_"... Rumour has it that Malfoy is dating American Beater, Fianna Mason. I bet there's trouble in paradise after England played America in the semi-finals last week, and on home turf, too. It was the shortest semi-final game since the 1800's, lasting only an hour before Potter caught the Snitch and won the game for his team. Malfoy was excellent at keeping the amount of points scored by America to a minimum, too."_

The crowds in the stands above were going wild. Cade shook hands with Harry, then Draco. Cade looked like he'd much rather punch them both, to be honest, but that was against the rules. No one wanted to be disqualified from the Quidditch World Cup final, especially not since the entire stands were filled to the brim with Quidditch officials, scouts, fans and the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

_"...Courtance is just going over the rules with them, a formality, then the captains will be allowed an hour long period in which they'll be allowed to talk to their teams about tactics whilst we get to enjoy the Closing Ceremony. America has pulled no punches this year! And of course, Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, will want to say a few words before the game begins."_

Even as Cymbeline finished speaking, and shook hands with each captain in turn herself, the noise kept getting louder and louder. Swedish and English fans had swarmed to the stadium to see the spectacle. It had been eighteen years since the Swedish had made it to a final, and sixty since England had. Bulgaria and Ireland had dominated the Quidditch world for so long, but new blood was here to welcome everyone to a new age. Everyone was excited.

_"...And there go the captains! Quite a sight to behold, aren't they! I've just received word that there'll be a short five minute delay before the closing ceremony begins, apparition trouble from one of the circus gymnasts coming to perform a routine, on brooms no less. Shouldn't be too long, just sit back, relax and enjoy the show whilst we wait for the main event to begin."_

Inside the dressing room, the noise could still be heard through the thick walls. The England team were ready, dressed and about to go and play like never before. Some were admiring their new brooms, Nimbus 6002's. A gift from Nimbus after Harry's latest photoshoot with them increased their Quidditch jumper sales by nearly triple what they had been. It was also, partly, a marketing ploy. If England won the cup, which most believe they would, Niumbus could claim that their brooms did it.

Others were bouncing around, too jittery with adrenaline and nerves to stay seated. Ginny was one of these people. This was the first game she'd be playing for England - before she'd just played regional stuff. But, on a special request from Harry, she had agreed (with no reluctance) to play in the final after Chaser Xavier Montgomery had to drop out for 'personal reasons'.

Everyone looked up when Harry and Draco walk into the changing rooms, grinning from ear to ear. For Draco, fame was the thrill. Everyone knew his name, screamed it like a prayer whenever he was around. He had always feared he'd become infamous, like his father. Well known but as someone to be afraid of. Instead, he received love and admiration everywhere he went, everyone wanted to kiss him, kill him or be him. That was what he had always wanted.

For Harry, it was about Quidditch. He didn't much care for the fame, felt a fool every time he had to do a fashion shoot, and hated that his private life was never private. _Almost_ never private. But he loved the game, the rush of adrenaline as he took to the pitch, the instincts that took over to help him find the snitch. The pride and joy of winning, but also the heartbreak of losing. He craved the way it made him feel so _alive_!

"Look, Harry, I'm as much of a dreamer as the next girl, but I don't think we can win this one!" One of the players cried. Lina Childs, a beater. "It's just, they have Firebolts, the latest ones. The _fastest_ ones, too. I love Nimbus as much as everyone else, but there's no way we can match up to that."

Harry's features hardened as he spoke, whilst Draco frowned. "It doesn't matter if we play on a Firebolt, Nimbus or even a bloody Shooting Star. This is not only the strongest _England_ team ever, but the strongest _Qudditch_ team since the 2004 Bulgarian finals team. We are going to win this game, or die trying, do you understand?"

Harry raised his voice so he was talking to the whole room instead of just Childs. "We play as a team and we win or lose as a team! So when we go out there today, we go out as a team! And I believe in this team! You had all better start believing in yourselves!" In response the room erupted in shouts of agreement, pride and excitement.

"We play like we have every other game, clean and fair. Marx is our best scorer, get the quaffle to him. Weasley, you're good at getting it up the field, you work with Smitt to get it to Marx. Marx, you just worry about getting it at the other end and scoring. Isaacs, stay on Marx. When they figure out what's happening they'll be sending all their bludgers his way. Childs, you stay on Potter, make sure the only thing he has to worry about is finding the snitch." Draco explained.

Harry and Draco as co-captains just worked. Harry was the best at boosting morale, he just had a knack for getting people to believe in him and in themselves. Draco was brilliant at tactics. Sure, he was an arse to your face, and arrogant enough to believe he was one of the best players on the field, but he saw potential. He saw who did what the best and made sure to take advantage of that every time they played. Together, they could make magic happen (pun not intended).

The England team went back to being nervous as Harry and Draco made their way to the captain's quarters. It was really only meant for one person, as most teams had only one captain, but Harry and Draco made it work. The captain's quarters were always the same, no matter the stadium. A desk and chair, a small sofa, and a huge board covered in a map of the pitch.

On the map were four drawings of the balls which moved how they wood in real life, and faceless black and white drawings of players. It was a way for captains to plan tactics, and get a rough idea of how it would look in real life. The quarters were always very private, a single window with closed blinds covering them, and a steel door, each one sound proofed to prevent spies.

As the door slowly closed on its own behind them, Draco flopped down onto the sofa exaggeratedly. Harry sat on the floor across from him, watching as the gap between the door and its frame became increasingly smaller until it no longer existed, and Draco and Harry were as good as alone. It was even quieter in this room, just the sounds of their own breaths, and hearts pounding from anticipation of the match to come.

"Nice speech." Draco said after a few minutes of silence.

"Are you mocking me, I can never tell." Harry answered, looking up from where he was re-tying his boots for the third time.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, it makes me nervous." Draco frowned, nodding to where Harry's long, slender fingers quickly knotted his laces so they wouldn't come undone whilst he was in the air. "And no, I wasn't mocking you."

"Good idea, keeping Marx at the hoops. He's not as good when he's tired, make him use up as little energy as possible." Harry replied, smiling slightly.

They stayed quiet again for a few minutes until finally the silence became too much for Harry and he had to ask a question that had been on his mind since he had woken up that day, "Do you actually think we'll win?"

Draco observed him sceptically. Harry never doubted the team, ever. Even suggesting to him that there was reason to usually ended with a furious Harry jinxing someone into next week. Yet there he was, not sure that the best Quidditch team in English history could win. It was strange to see Harry like that - vulnerable - Draco was used to (and much preferred) confident Harry who could make everything better with a mere smile.

"I don't know." Draco answered honestly, "But I think we'll do everything and more to try to at least. But hey, we have the best beaters and chasers and keeper in England. Not to mention the best Seeker in Europe, if not the world. We have a good chance."

Harry nodded, unconvinced. Draco sighed, stood up, and stretched. He purposefully made the most obscene noises Harry had ever heard. Harry peered up from beneath his eyelashes and watched the show, growing more and more amused. Finally, Harry let out a laugh, and Draco was glad because he was more than a little light headed. He sat down next to harry, leaning back against the wall.

He looked at Harry and said, "I much prefer it when you laugh," in a hushed voice. "Even if I have to make a complete twat of myself."

Harry smiled softly, and leaned in. Draco met him halfway, their lips brushing softly at first, but then harder and more furiously. Draco's arms wrapped around Harry's waist as Harry opened his mouth slightly. Harry gripped the short strands of hair at Draco's nape just enough for Draco to let out a small moan, not enough to really hurt. It was comfortable and familiar, something hopeful to grip onto (quite literally) when things got tense.

See, the press knew nearly everything about Harry and Draco, but they didn't know about this. They didn't know that when the cameras were off, and they were home, they were not just co-captains. When they were home they were...something. Harry didn't like calling them boyfriends because Draco never called them that, but they were something, that was for sure.

It had all started after their first win as co-captains. A friendly game against Scotland which they had somehow managed to win, and the whole team had gone out to celebrate. Draco had gotten more slightly drunk, but Harry was sober. He could tell from the way Draco moved, sluggish and free, that he wouldn't be able to get home alone. So, at around twelve, he did the gentlemanly thing and wrestled Draco into his car. He drove Draco home, not having to ask for directions. He drove past Malfoy Manner almost everyday on the way to training, so he didn't need them.

Harry parked at the gates, dreading having to actually go inside. Draco was giggling at something, and the soft, melodic sound was so endearing Harry couldn't help but smile too. Draco started mumbling something incomprehensible, and Harry did his best to ignore it and figure out a way to get Draco into the house.

"Y'know, Saint Potter of Harry," Draco slurred, "you're very handsome."

"You're very drunk." Harry replied, grinning.

"You have a nice ass, too." Draco continued, unfazed by Harry's response. "The papers call you the 'chosen one', come to save English Quidditch. I think we just need to teach our players to be less shit, and then we'd be able to keep up with you."

Harry continued to grin as he said, "I need your key."

"Now, now Potter!" Draco cried, frowning. "Moving a little quickly there aren't we bucko. We're not even dating, we can't exchange keys yet!"

"Tell you what," Harry said, playing along, "you give me your key and I'll take you on a date."

"Now, I may be what's going on, and I might not really know what's drunk, but I know enough about enough." Draco blabbered, nodding his every few words - it lolled forward and he seemed to have to use all of his energy to bring it back to lean on the headrest. "But, I will hold you to that." He continued, fishing around in his pocket for his key. And, miraculously, he did make sure Harry kept his word.

* * *

* * *

_"...And we're off! It's Oshtona with the quaffle making her way up the pitch- She passes to Canterman- It's intercepted by Weasley- Aushtaine hits a bludger towards Weasley showing off the immense speed of the Firebolt broomstick- Childs knocks it away as Weasley passes to Smitt- Smitt carries it up the pitch- Sens dives for something- Have Sweden found the snitch already? No, she was ducking a bludger sent her way by Isaacs though I think it was accidental, Isaacs is appologising-"_

The commentary boomed through the speakers as the game played out. Harry hovered above the game, circling the pitch every now and then, watching for the snitch. From this angle, he could see the Swedish players zooming past on their Firebolts. The Nimbus 6002's were quick, too, but they couldn't match up. Harry knew it was down to him and Draco to keep the Swedish score down and get the snitch soon.

_"...Some dirty playing from the English team as yet another bludger is sent Sens' way, this time by Childs, she is not having a good game. Still no sign of the snitch as we reach twenty minutes of play and once again Weasley has possession of the Quaffle- She passes to Smitt and Gargoriav comes out of nowhere to get the quaffle before Smitt- He makes his way up the pitch into the score zone and shoots- It's knocked away by Malfoy- The crowd goes wild as Weasley gets possession of the quaffle once again."_

Harry had caught flashes of gold a couple of times, but everytime he tried to follow it, he lost the trial or it ended up being someone's golden jewelry. Somehow, the score was still nothing to both teams. Malfoy was playing the best Harry thought he'd ever seen him, it was a shame the same couldn't be said for the rest of the team. Isaacs and Marx were doing as Draco had said, they stayed by the Swedish posts, but Childs was all over the place. She kept hitting the bludgers towards the Swedish seeker, and was never where Harry was. More than once Harry had had to duck out of the way of one of the bludgers came flying his way. Ginny was trying her best but Smitt was slow to get passes, often losing possession of the Quaffle to a Swedish Chaser. It wasn't going well.

_"...Sens dodges another bludger sent her way by Childs despite being nowhere near the game play, I'm beginning to think this is happening on purpose. Marx has possession for the first time in the game- He ducks out of the way to avoid a bludger sent by Aushtaine and drops the Quaffle- Gargoriav is quick to catch it and moves up the pitch- He passes to Canterman who carries it further up the pitch then passes it to Oshtona- She catches it, gets into the scoring zone- She shoots- Malfoy knocks it away right into the hands of Smitt who immediatley passes to Weasley- This is not the strong England side we've seen this World Cup."_

Harry flew over to the goal posts where Malfoy was flying in front, watching the game and frowning. "Call a time out." Harry shouted to him, flying close enough for Draco to hear.

Draco looked at him and nodded. Harry pulled his wand out of his Quidditch robes, and sent three sparks into the air, signalling for a time out. Courtance blew her whistle, and both teams began flying in the direction of the tunnels they entered from. They'd been playing an hour and a half, Sweden were winning thirty to ten, Harry could tell already that morale was low.

" _England's called for a time out, clearly Potter and Malfoy are seeing what a disaster this game is becoming for their team. Take this time to purchase refreshments and use the bathroom, the game will continue in half an hour."_

Draco and Harry marched into the changing room together, the rest of the team were already sat inside, looking miserable. Lina paced up and down the room, Nia Smitt was downing an entire bottle of water, and Ginny was physically _shaking_. She was _angry_ and _disappointed_ and _sad_ all at the same time. Her fast game was a disaster!

Harry whistled to get everyone's attention, but it was Draco who spoke. "What's going on out there!" He cried. "Childs, where the hell are you? Harry's miles away, he's had to dodge bludgers three times now! And why are you sending them towards Sweden's seeker? What good will that do! Smitt, when Weasley passes to you, _be there_! What good is Marx at the shooting end if the quaffle is 400 feet away because one of the Swedish chasers has it! Isaacs, if Marx has the ball, you focus on getting the bludgers towards the keeper. The Quaffle's in the shooting zone, it isn't a foul!"

Draco glared at them all before barging through the training room and into the captain's quarters, slamming the door behind him. Harry stayed behind, he had a few things to say himself. The room was deadly silent, everyone was shocked at Draco's outburst - he never usually yelled - and depressed by the game. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"Listen," He said in a low voice, "we're the first English team in sixty years to make to the final. Whether we win or lose today, we'll always have that. Malfoy's right, this is the worst we've played this entire tournament. Maybe it's nerves, maybe it's something else, I don't know and I don't care. We stick to our plan, if we do it right, we should start playing better. Childs, we play clean, you know that. If we win by playing foul, we haven't won, okay? I meant what I said, I believe in this team. You need to start believing in yourselves. Forget the brooms and the players and the crowds and think of Quidditch. We're all here because we love it, think of that when you play."

Someone began to clap, then someone joined, and someone else. Soon the entire changing room was alive with laughter, happiness, clapping and a new sense of energy. Harry grinned as he walked through everyone into the Captain's quarters. He entered and closed the door softly behind him. Draco was laid out across the sofa with his hands over his face.

"You called me Harry instead of Potter." Harry stated softly walking over and sitting on the floor next to the sofa.

"They were too shocked at me shouting to notice." Draco said from behind his palms.

"Yeah, what was that about?" Harry asked, placing a comforting hand on Draco's thigh. Draco groaned his answer, nearly making Harry laugh. Nearly. "Do you need me to pet your hair and call you pretty?"

Draco glared at Harry through his fingers and said firmly, "No."

"That's a shame, I like calling you pretty." Harry replied, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"I can't understand why." Draco sighed, sitting up.

"Because you're very pretty and you deserve someone to tell you that." Harry answered as though it were obvious. "Are you going to tell me why you're so tense or am I going to have to guess."

Draco rolled his eyes, but explained anyway. "My father always said playing Quidditch after Durmstrang was stupid, there was no point to it. He said I should find a proper job at the Ministry like him." Draco closed his eyes and grimaced as though carrying on speaking was just too difficult a task. Harry squeezed his thigh encouragingly, and he found the courage to continue. "What if he was right? What if Quidditch is just child's play and I need to grow up?"

"Don't be stupid!" Harry exclaimed, frowning. "Draco, this is your life! You love playing, you love winning and you love the fame. You can't give up all of that. No offense but you're father's an arrogant bastard who's only ever wanted you to be exactly like him, but you're not. You're nothing like him, and that's what I like most about you. He can grow old and die living the life his father led before him, and his father before that, but you're ending the cycle. You're doing what you love, and what you love is Quidditch. You're playing the best I've ever seen you play, you're not quitting now! The European Championship is next year! England's hosting it for the first time ever! I can't captain the team on my own."

Draco smiled. Harry was good at this, at not only making him feel happier, but like he was the most precious thing in the world. Harry was the only one who could do it, make him feel like that, but then again, Harry was the only person he wanted to make him feel like that. His father's words echoed through his head every now and then, sometimes they kept him awake at night. Then Harry would pull him closer and he'd be out like a light. Harry could do that to him...

Their first date had been somewhat of a disaster. They couldn't go anywhere public because then their faces would be all over the press, Rita Skeeter would have a field day over it. So Harry cooked. Draco overdressed because he didn't want to disappoint Harry - he'd been desperate to finally have a chance with him since the moment they'd met - and Harry wore some jeans and a t-shirt. Draco forgot to mention he was allergic to Walnuts, so Harry had to improvise with the meal - which had contained a _lot_ of Walnut. Harry forgot to mention he didn't drink so Draco showed up with a bottle of expensive wine.

But, at the end of the night, after a catastrophic meal and Draco had stripped to his shirt and trousers, it seemed worth it. They were sat on Harry's sofa giggling like school girls when very suddenly Harry leaned forward and captured Draco's lips with his own. He started pulling away almost immediately, but Draco caught the back of his neck and pulled him forwards again. When their lips met again, Draco kissed back. Their mouths moved in sync, as though they were connected something rooted deep in their souls. Harry's hands gripped Draco's waist, and Draco's were in Harry's hair making it even more of a mess. They both agreed they'd go through a million terrible dinner's to have that again.

* * *

* * *

_"It's Weasley with the quaffle again and she passes to Smitt- Oshtona tries to intercept but she's too slow- Smitt travels up the pitch- She passes to Marx- Isaacs bats a bludger towards Mastoneia who dives to avoid it as Marx scores- Ten points to England"_

After the little pep talk, the English team walked onto the pitch with a new sense of purpose. Lina stayed close to Harry, stopping any rogue bludgers and sending them in the direction of Swedish Chasers. Draco was playing just as well, if not better. In the ten minutes since they'd gotten back onto the pitch, they'd managed to make the score eighty to them, fourty to Sweden.

Then, suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw it, a flash of gold with wiry cream wings - the snitch! He flew towards it slowly, doing his best to make it look like he was just doing another lap of the pitch, keeping a close eye on Sense, checking she hadn't spotted what was happening. Then Harry was right on top of it, the key to winning the match just a few feet below. He was tense - this was make or break. 

Then he dived. The harsh wind battered his face whilst adrenaline coursed through him. He could hear vaguely the commentator pointing out what he was doing, but then he was reaching out a shaking hand and could fee the cold metal in his fingers It was all over, he had won. He levelled out just before he hit the floor, dangerously close to the ground, and held up the snitch in his hand, grinning.

"Harry Potter's done it again, he's caught the snitch after just two hours of play, the shortest final in history! England win by 190 points! England are this year's Quidditch World Champions!"

Harry and the rest of the England team flew down and huddled in the centre of the pitch. They joined the cries of elated fans with cheers of their own, bundling together in a haphazard group hug. The Swedish team flew down too, looking far less happy. Axel Jerimiah, a beater, looked as though he had tears in his eyes. The two teams shook hands as they walked past each other to their tunnels, to go back into the changing room. Harry could never remember feeing so happy!

That was only slightly a lie. He'd felt this happy before only once. It was the first time he and Draco slept together. Well, Harry called it making love, Draco called it fucking. But they slept the rest of the night in each other's arms, warm and content for the first time in a long time. It was their one month anniversary - Harry insisted on celebrating, even though Draco didn't see the point. Harry had the genius idea to recreate their first date, this time taking into account everything he knew about Draco.

 _This time_ it went well, really well. The night still ended with them both on Harry's sofa giggling like a pair of school girls, but this time it wasn't about their date. Draco leaned forwards for a kiss, and Harry met him halfway. It started slow, lazy and peaceful, but it soon got more heated when Harry moved to straddle Draco's thighs. From there, it was fumbling fingers on stubborn jean zips and fiddly shirt buttons. Draco grew worried about how they'd decide who'd bottom, but Harry put the condom on him, so Draco figured he was topping - not that he minded, he'd meant it when he said Harry had a nice arse. Somehow that night they ended up in Harry's bed, with Harry collapsing next to him, snuggling into his side. It was so good, Harry was overjoyed! It felt like coming home.

* * *

* * *

Draco pouted a few days after the World Cup Final, sat tangled in Harry's bed sheets, stark naked. Harry was half dressed having woken up early and eaten whilst Draco was still sleeping. He was doing the button on his trousers, rolling his eyes at Draco's petulance. Draco had woken up a few minutes earlier to the sounds of Harry moving about his room getting dressed.

"You said after the tournament was over I could have you all to myself!" He whined.

"You and I both know that the press are going to be all over us until the Premier League starts up again, then they'll drop it and things will go back to normal, and we won't even be playing in it this time around." Harry reasoned in response. "I just co-captained England to victory, I'm meeting with Hermione for brunch to sort out new signings and interviews and all the other stuff that comes with it. I expect Pansy will be calling you soon about all the stuff you've got lined up! It's just business, Draco."

Draco wasn't convinced. Okay, yes, Harry was totally 100% right as usual. And yes, Pansy had already been getting on at him about how he needed to go down to her office and talk about his schedule. England had won the Quidditch World Cup for the first time in sixty years, the English press were all over it! Front page of every newspaper, everyone was talking about it. It was the biggest news in England since Fudge had become Minister of Magic - everyone had expected Vladimir Cornswallow of Holland to get the job, there was a massive controversy over it!

But Draco didn't care much about any of that. He just wanted it to be him and Harry in bed in Harry's apartment, feeding each other chocolate and drinking non-alcoholic champagne until they'd had enough and got down to fucking like they always did. Draco very nearly regretted winning the World Cup to begin with if this is what it meant. Very nearly, but not quite.

Harry had finished dressing, tucking his shirt into his jeans and finding the matching suit jacket in his wardrobe - a small portion of the space was taken up by Draco's clothes, which Harry grinned about every time he looked inside. He turned around and looked back at Draco who hadn't moved a muscle.

"You'll have to sneak out of the back, Colin buzzed up and said there were reporters swarming the front." Harry explained, shrugging on his jacket. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, flattening it for all of a second before it sprung back into the mess it always was, as he added, "When things are back to normal, I promise I'm all yours. I'd much rather spend the day with you than talking to Hermione about when Rita Skeeter will start asking me loads of stupid questions no one cares about the answer to."

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Draco's head, smoothing over his hair, before leaving the room, and a very displeased Draco inside it. The thing was, even when things were 'normal' they were still two of the most well known Quidditch players in the world. And with their signings and other publicity deals, they were constantly in the papers. It was hell. As much as Draco craved the fame, sometimes he wished that he and Harry could have one day in peace.

They couldn't go out for dates. Ever. If anyone saw them at a fancy restaurant eating dinner, or holding hands in the cinema, or dancing just a little too close they might get the wrong idea (in that, they'd get the right one). They'd go straight to The Daily Prophet or Wizard Weekly or Quidditch Magazine and then the cat would be out the bag, the whole world would know that the co-captains of the England Quidditch team were far more than just teammates.

For Harry, it wouldn't be as bad. Sure, he'd maybe lose his Nimbus deal, but he'd find others. For Draco, it would be far, far worse. For one, his father would disown him. He'd be forced to take his Mother's name - if she too didn't exile him from her family. Weasley would probably cut him loose in case it was bad for business, and Draco wouldn't even be able to hate him for it because he'd do exactly the same thing if the roles were reversed.

Draco wasn't quite sure of the WQA's (World Quidditch Association's) stance on being gay. He didn't think it was written anywhere that it was against the rules, but enough people were against it for them to have a problem with it if they wanted. He and Harry were poster boys for Quidditch everywhere, the WQA could stop that in a heartbeat, then they'd both be left with nothing.

Mostly, they stuck to home dates. Draco didn't mind, it meant less far to travel to the bedroom afterwards. It just meant that he couldn't show Harry of like he wanted to, couldn't treat Harry like royalty like he wanted to. Harry meant everything to him, but he couldn't even tell anyone they were dating! It all seemed extremely unfair. Why should he and Harry have to hide their feelings just because they were both guys when everyone else was free to be whoever they wanted. Sometimes, it was enough to make Draco want to scream.

* * *

* * *

Harry met Hermione in a quaint coffee shop in central London. It was red-brick with a blue slate roof and two big windows facing onto the street. Inside smelled of Lavender and Patchouli, and all the writing was in fancy cursive. Hermione sat at a table in the most secluded part of the room, in hopes of hiding both her and Harry from the view of any reporters hoping to snap a few shots of the new World Cup Champion Seeker, Harry Potter.

"Hi," Harry greeted, tapping Hermione on the shoulder.

She stood up quickly, and captured Harry in a tight hug. Hermione was one of Harry's best friends, they had known each other since their Hogwarts days. Hermione was always the one to organise Harry's school life so he could balance Quidditch, homework and seeing his friends in a way that wasn't totally catastrophic (as it would have been had the responsibility be left to Harry himself). When budget cuts meant Hermione's job as a healer was lost, Harry offered her a job as his personal assistant until she found another job. That was nearly six years ago.

"Hello," Hermione replied pulling away, "Coffee?"

Harry nodded, and sat down. Hermione called over a waiter - who's eyes widened when he saw Harry sitting there, calmly, as though he wasn't a freaking Quidditch legend - and ordered a coffee and a mocha... something or other. Then, she sat down as well, and pulled a piece of paper out of her bag. She placed it on the table in front of Harry and spoke.

"Your week is hectic, so don't bother making any plans with Mystery Man." She explained as Harry picked up the paper to read.

Hermione knew Harry was gay, and knew he was dating someone secretly, she just didn't know who. Harry often considered telling her, she was his best friend and she worked for him, it wasn't like she'd run straight to Rita Skeeter. Besides, she detested Rita and everything she stood for. But Harry knew how scared Draco was of someone finding out the truth, so Harry stayed quiet.

"You have today off, but you're having breakfast tomorrow with Nimbus to talk about what's going to happen when your contract is up. I expect they'll just ask you to sign another, you are, after all, their best marketing ploy to date. If we're lucky, we'll be able to boost your price, a pay rise is long overdue if you ask me.

"Next, you're meeting with a woman called Portia Malone. She's a reporter for Witch Weekly. She'll probably ask you a lot of questions about your love life, then a load of other superficial questions which brainless witches want to know the answer to. We'll play it coy, of course. Don't give any direct answers, keep it vague, you know the drill.

"You'll have a few hours to yourself then. I recommend staying in your apartment, the press are after you like blood hounds. Then you'll be eating dinner with Lance Norton. He's the Minister of Sport in Education, he wants you to head an initiative he's launching about the lack of exercise in schools. It's mostly news articles and a few short films about how sport can make a difference to children, the usual nonsense. I'll be there too, of course, so you just leave the agreement to me. Oh, and Malfoy, without his assistant for some bizarre reason. I'm so glad you see sense, Harry." By the time Hermione had finished talking, Harry had drank half of his coffee.

"I have a suggestion." He said nervously, pulling at a loose thread on his jacket.

Hermione observed him sceptically, Harry could feel her questioning gaze on him. Usually he just left it to Hermione to sort out pretty much everything, but he'd had an idea himself for once. He'd though of it in the taxi to the coffee shop, thinking if how beautiful Draco had looked that morning with the sun streaming through the curtains making his pale skin glimmer like diamonds. He thought perhaps it would be a good time... Perhaps...

"I'm all ears." Hermione replied, finally, a small smirk on her lips.

"What if I came out. Now's the perfect time, I just won the World Cup, everyone loves me. My contract with Nimbus is nearly over, so is they want to drop me, they'll just wait it out instead of launching a long and expensive court case trying to cut the contract. My name's in the papers already." Harry explained, not meeting Hermione's eye.

He'd wanted to come out forever, but he'd always told himself it was the wrong time. There was a tournament coming up, his focus needed to be on that. Nimbus were looking for contracts to sign, he didn't want to give them a reason to say no. He didn't want people to react badly about it. The list went on, but he was sick of being scared of being who he was. He felt it was finally time to let the world know how Seeker Harry Potter truly was.

"Okay," Hermione said finally. "I talk to my contacts, see if anyone can fit you in for an interview today. If I tell them what it's about, I'm sure they will. If you're sure."

"It's not throwing away my career though, is it? I'm not making a huge mistake?" Harry asked, finally looking up to meet Hermione's eye.

She just smiled at him as she stood up. She grabbed her bag, pulled it onto her shoulder, and left the shop. Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, half dreading what Hermione was going to say to him. He still wasn't sure he wasn't making a huge mistake. Oh Gods, what was Draco going to say when he found out? Harry could only imagine...

* * *

* * *

Several miles away, in an ugly brick office building, Draco was in the middle of his own PR meeting. His PA, Pansy, was finishing her fourth coffee and explaining what his Friday was going to look like. Draco listened enough to know what she was saying, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Harry.

"First thing you've got an interview with a Witch Weekly reporter about the Weasley line. Then you've got a meeting _with_ Weasley, he wants to talk to you about a new ad campaign or something. Then you've got a photoshoot for the new Bertie Botts fragrance range. After, you're having mid-afternoon lunch with me and we're talking about the position you've been offered on the Hollyhead Harpees team. Then you've got a meet and greet with a terminally ill kid the healers can't do anything for. Finally you're having dinner with the Minister of Sport in Education about a new initiative of his. Potter will be there, too, so you'll have to put up with him as well. Any questions?" She explained rapidly, barely pausing to breathe.

Draco only shook his head. He'd managed to sneak out the back of Harry's apartment building without being seen, and called a cab to take him to the stout little office building in the middle of London to meet with Pansy. She was the most controlling person Draco knew, she had a very, _very_ strict schedule for him to follow. But, she always did what was best for Draco's career, so he was thankful for her.

"Oh, you're having dinner with your dad at the manor tonight. He has some big news for you apparently. Good luck with that. I have a meeting with another client in five, so you'll have to see yourself out." Pansy added, before downing the rest of her coffee, standing up and leaving.

Draco stared at the chair she'd just been sitting on. Whenever his father had 'big news', it never ended well for Draco. The last 'big news' he'd had ended with Draco's parents getting back together. When he was younger that was all Draco had wanted, but their relationship was awful, they only really stayed together for the press - breaking up once was understandable, breaking up twice screamed controversy to find. For Draco, 'big news' meant hell. All he wanted was to go back to Harry's apartment and spend the day with him.

* * *

* * *

_"Harry, hi, it's Hermione. You're having dinner with Erica Kolman, she's going to interview you about coming out. She's going to have the story in tomorrow's Daily Prophet on a personal favour she owes me. To answer your question from earlier, I guess we'll find out. Have a nice day, Harry. And answer your damn phone!"_

* * *

* * *

Malfoy Manor seemed to loom over Draco as he walked up the long winding drive to the front door. The old building used to scare him when he was a child, the tall turrets and creaky floorboards. Inside was like a museum, he was forbidden from touching anything even still as his 25th birthday approached. He despised this house and he despised what it stood for - greed.

He opened the door tentatively, creeping into the house hoping not to catch anyone's attention. It was always the same when he came home, his mother would be insufferable and fuss over him every second, and his father would make snide comments about Quidditch and not so subtly drop references about a job available at the Ministry. It was hell.

Immediately, he smelt the meal which had obviously been prepared especially for his return - it was a _very_ rare occurrence - and remembered the only part of his childhood he actually enjoyed. His father only hired the house elves who were the best chefs, and it paid off. Draco never ate a meal he didn't thoroughly enjoy, the food almost matched that served at Durmstrang!

He walked slowly towards his father's study, taking his time as he went. He could only dread what the 'big news' was. He reached the dark oak door which was all to familiar for Draco. His father practically lived in his study, Draco saw this same door every time he wished to speak to his father. He'd have to wait outside until he'd been given permission to enter, and he's have to keep his hands to himself when he was inside. Cautiously, he knocked on the door.

"Enter," His father's gruff voice came through the door.

Carefully, Draco opened the door and stepped into the lavish study. Shelves lined the walls filled with thick books of spells and potions, both good and evil. A plush red love seat sat in a corner of the room, with a floating candle next to it, radiating enough light to read by. A thick maple desk sat at the end of the room, by a large window that looked over the drive, adorned with; papers, a pot of ink, quills, and a single photo of Draco when he was a child, staring at the camera, looking miserable.

A portrait of Draco's grandfather hung on the wall behind the love seat, the eyes following Draco as he walked nervously towards his father's desk. On the outside, he looked confident and brave. His shoulders back, chin up, eyes glaring forwards - just as his father had taught him. But inside his mind he was the twelve year old boy being told that Quidditch was a waste of time, and joining the Durmstrang Quidditch team was a pointless task. That conversation had broken his heart into a thousand pieces...

"Ah, Draco, how are you?" Lucio's Malfoy greeted, finally looking up from his papers to regard his son.

"Father," Draco replied, tightly. "I'm fine, how are you?"

"Wonderful." His father grinned.

The exchange was too stiff, to tight. It was almost as though they were near strangers, instead of father and son. It had been like this for as long as Draco could remember. They were Malfoys, and Malfoys were good and proper. His mother was adoring and obedient as a wife should be, his father was strong and dominant as the man of the house should be, and Draco did just enough to satisfy his father's demands for a perfect son. That was the side of the family the press didn't see.

"Dinner will be a few hours yet. Your mother is in the garden, I'm sure she'd like to see you." Lucius said before turning his attention back to his papers.

It was phrased like a suggestion, but Draco knew it was an order. He backed out of the room, and closed the door softly behind him. One of the house elves - Dobby, Draco thought his name was - hurried past nearly tripping him over. Draco cursed at him before continuing to the garden.

It was quite beautiful, Draco could see why his mother spent so much of her time there. Tall trees of all kinds towering in the distance, iridescent flowers growing in neat patterns all across the grass, a small patio holding a table and chairs made out of expensive wood, a barbeque sat next to it - it was just for show - and a gazebo over the top. Narcissa was sat in one of the chairs, taking long sips out of a glass of what Draco assumed was wine, looking out across the garden with a peaceful gaze. Draco almost wanted to leave her to the world inside her head where everything seemed so much happier.

"Mother?" He called out softly, as soon as he was in ear shot.

Narcissa was immediately drawn from her trance, and whipped her head around to see who had called out to her. When her eyes settled on Draco, she smiled and stood up before hurrying over to him. She captured him in a tight hug which smelled of honey and lemon, something familiar to Draco after years of this same greeting every time they saw each other.

"Draco!" Narcissa cried, pulling away to look into Draco's eyes. "Oh, my baby, how are you? I haven't seen you in so long! Are you still growing? Look at you, my big, strong boy! I've missed you so much!"

"Mother, I'm fine. You shouldn't worry yourself about me, I'm a big boy now, I can look after myself!" Draco protested, smiling despite himself.

"I know but I'm your mother, it's my job to worry about you." Narcissa said, smoothing over Draco's hair.

Draco enjoyed having his hair played with, styled, pulled on... It soothed him when he was tense, could make him come in seconds if done right, drove him crazy sometimes. Harry discovered this very early on in their relationship. It must have been only three months since their first date, a lazy Sunday spent cuddling on Harry's sofa. Draco was reading a book on Quidditch tactics, and Harry was daydreaming as he often did. Quite out of the blue, Harry twisted his fingers into Draco's unstyled hair with just enough pressure and just the right way that Draco let out a high pitched whine. It had shocked both of them, so Harry did it again, causing Draco to throw his book down onto the coffee table and move faster than Harry even knew possible to straddle his thighs. That night was the first time Draco bottomed.

His mother was always soft and tentative, smoothing over stray strands and styling it into place. It didn't turn Draco on so much as it calmed him down. He was always so nervous when he was at the manor, it helped no end to make him feel more at ease. His mother, somehow, seemed to know this without having to be told. His mother seemed to know a lot of things without having to be told. His mother was one of the few people in the world he felt he could truly trust.

* * *

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry was just getting home from an early dinner with the reporter. The questions had been strange to answer, mostly because they were honest answers for once. He was no longer trying to hide the truth at all costs, instead finally being honest about who he was. It was... _wierd_ , but also kind of nice.

He sat down on his sofa and dug his mobile phone out of his pocket. He quickly typed in his password, found his recent calls, and selected Draco's number. It rang through once... twice... three times... a fourth... on the fifth Harry gave up and stopped the call. He'd just have to tell Draco about his news later.

* * *

* * *

Draco hadn't answered his phone because he was sat eating at the dinner table, and his father had strict rules about that. He felt it vibrate in his pocket but could do nothing about it. Instead, he spooned more soup into his mouth, hating every second of the meal. His father thus far had been silent, and an uneasy feeling settled in Draco's stomach. His 'big news'...

"The soup is simply divine tonight darling, where did you say the chefs were from again?" Narcissa asked, trying to make polite conversation.

"Somewhere in Asia, I think. Does it matter, all the elves are the same. Good for nothing except serving us wizards." Lucius replied, curling his lip.

Narcissa nodded, but Draco could tell it was half-hearted at best. He could tell that it was forced for the sake of not causing an argument, and in that moment Draco vowed not to stay silent in the face of his father (a resolve he already knew would crumble in seconds). He hated seeing his mother so weak and vulnerable, but didn't know what to do to make it better.

"Draco, I expect you'll be wondering why I called and asked you here today." Lucius said, changing the subject.

"It had crossed my mind, yes father." Draco agreed.

"Well, I've been thinking you see, you aren't getting any younger and neither is your mother or me. I think it's nearing the time when grandchildren should be coming along, don't you? And so, I've been considering your options. I've concluded that the best way to ensure pure-blood children is to marry and breed a pure-blood woman." Lucius explained.

"I wish you wouldn't speak about women like that, especially not at dinner." Narcissa scolded but Lucius took no notice.

"I looked at all the single pure-blood women around London," Lucius continued. "I think I've found the perfect woman. Her name is Astoria Greengrass, her father is Minister of Public Relations, she's from a very good very wealthy family. Once you meet her you'll understand."

And then, Lucius proceeded to eat his soup, as though he hadn't just told Draco he was going to get married. Because once again, it wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. Draco would marry Astoria whether he wanted to or not. Unless he put up a fight. Slowly, an idea began forming in his mind.

* * *

* * *

Harry was making tea when his phone rang loud and clear through his quiet apartment. Draco was out somewhere and hadn't answered the five times he had called him, so Harry had given up and intended to have an early night in preparation for the hectic day laying ahead of him.

He rushed from his kitchen into his living room, picked up the phone and answered. It was Draco's voice which came through the speaker, saying, "Harry, are you okay? Sorry I didn't answer, I'm having dinner with my parents. I just excused myself to go to the bathroom. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Harry replied, "Just, can you come over later? I have something important to tell you."

"Yeah, I have some pretty big news myself." Draco said on the other end of the line.

"Okay, I'll see you later then." Harry answered before hanging up

He had almost said 'I love you', but managed to catch himself in time. He had said it only once before. Draco had been sound asleep after a long day of training, and Harry watched him with a small smile on his lips. He brushed a strand of Draco's out of his face, and whispered those three words nearly silently. He had just wanted to say it without worrying about the answer, at least once.

* * *

* * *

Draco stepped out of one of the many bathrooms in the manor, slipping his phone back into his pocket. If he hadn't been so worried that Harry was being brutally murdered by an obsessed fan, he might have waited until later that evening to call him back. However, he had been unable to shake the feeling something terrible was happening, so he just wanted to be sure. Better safe than sorry, right?

He walked back through the maze of corridors from the bathroom to the dining room immersed in his thoughts. The surprise wedding he was apparently going to have, Harry's news, whatever that was, his own plan to get himself out of an engagement he didn't want. His mind was racing so fast he didn't even notice his mother hurrying towards him until she was pulling him into a guest bedroom.

The floating candles lit up immediately, illuminating the scarlet room, and casting somewhat eerie shadows across the tall walls. Draco turned to face his mother who had a stern expression on her face, all his other thoughts being replaced by pure confusion and worry. His mother was acting so strangely, so unlike herself.

"I know what you're planning," She said in a furious whisper, "and you can't, Draco."

"Mother, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Draco denied, frowning.

"You're planning on telling your father, aren't you? So you don't have to go through with this insane wedding he has planned. But you can't tell him. I know you must hate having so little say in your own life, but I promise this is for the best." His mother replied softly, reaching out a hand to touch his arm gently.

"You're acting strangely, Mother." Draco said, his frown deepening. "Why won't you just give me a straight answer?"

Narcissa took a step away from him, a step further into the room, with a sigh. She kept her back to him for what felt like several minutes, before turning back around to face him. When she did so, the candles hovering in the air showed the glistening tears appearing in her eyes.

"I know, Draco." She said, finally, in a shaky voice. "I know what you are, and I want you to know that I don't mind. You're my son and I love you no matter what. But your father, he won't see it like that." She paused to take a deep breath. "Our reputation - _this family's_ reputation is becoming worse and worse as the days go by. Complaints from years ago are resurfacing, and we're beginning to look like bad, bad people. Your father's facing an inquiry at work about something he did to get his place on the Board of Education, and the media is going mad on it. If you tell him, he will disown you because he doesn't think the Malfoy name will survive if you... Well, he'll say you're tarnishing it, but really he's just afraid of the backlash."

Draco stayed silent as the words settled in. He knew there was a problem at the ministry involving his father, he had been asked about it multiples times in interviews and refused to comment every time. But he had no idea it was so serious or deep rooted. He assumed it was something to do with a controversial bill that had passed through the ministry a few months ago to do with trading which had lost thousands of people their jobs, but wasn't sure. He'd been too worried about the World Cup to really care.

But now things made sense. His father wanted him to marry quickly so the press would focus solely on the wedding long enough for him to clear out the skeletons in his closet, so he could save his own arse. He was using Draco as a tool to keep the media off his back, as though Draco wasn't a real person with feelings and emotions. Draco was so _angry_ he wanted to punch something, to march right into the dining room and give his father a piece of his mind.

But his mother was crying, shallow little sobs that sounded almost like hiccoughs. And he could be furious with his father, detest everything he stood for and more, but he could never hate his mother. He loved his mother more than he could put into words, he could never hurt her.

"Okay." Draco said finally, causing Narcissa to whip her head up to look into his eyes. "I won't tell him. But I can't marry some woman, Mother, I just can't. Not for him, not to make him happy."

"If he goes down, then that's it for this family. We've survived this long on the good Malfoy name. Look at your aunt, rotting in Azkaban for crimes against peace between the nations. It was the reputation of the Malfoy family that stopped me from being condemned along with her. Your father has saved us and sacrificed for us and cared for us your entire life, Draco, even if he hasn't shown it. I don't want you to have to do this anymore than you do, but our name is the Titanic right now, sacrifices must be made if we want to miss the ice-berg and stay afloat." Narcissa explained, a pained expression on her face.

Draco almost forgot to breathe. He was being given an ultimatum; marry this woman or see the Malfoy name crash and burn. He knew the power of a name well, it was how his career was born. No one wanted to sign an only average keeper who didn't play nicely with the rest of his team, but being a Malfoy meant someone gave him a shot, and now he was the best keeper in England. He knew what it meant to call yourself a Malfoy.

As much as he wanted his father to crash and burn to spite him for all the years he was made to feel like less than nothing, he didn't want to do that to his mother. His mother didn't deserve that, she had given Draco everything she possibly could and more. He supposed it was just time he gave something back.

"Father will be angry if we don't get back to dinner." Draco said softly, opening the door.

His mother nodded solemnly, before leading him out of the room. They walked in silence, both too afraid to speak. Draco didn't even trust his voice not to come out as little more than a pathetic squeak. He thought of Harry, waiting for him at the apartment. Harry had news, he sounded so excited about it! Harry...

Draco sat down just as desert appeared on the table. A rich vanilla cheesecake with German Cow Clotted Cream - Draco's favourite. _Cared for us your entire life, Draco even if he hasn't shown it..._ Draco began eating, forcing himself to swallow against the knot in his stomach, forcing himself to act as though his world was crashing down around him.

"So, Draco, have you thought about what I said." Lucius said after a few minutes of silence.

Draco swallowed hard before replying, "Yes, I have." Draco waited a moment, daring himself to change his mind before saying, "I'd love to meet Astoria." He was, however, lying.

* * *

* * *

Harry laid on his bed, tracing patterns on his own skin, trailing paths where he knew Draco's hands had been. He did this whenever Draco wasn't there and he couldn't sleep, most nights it soothed him enough to get him to drift off, but that night his mind was too busy going over and over what he'd done to allow him any rest. He could do nothing but dread what reaction it was going to get.

He was drawn abruptly from his thoughts by the harsh sound of his phone ringing on his bedside table. With a groan, he reached up and grabbed it. He looked at the screen to see who it was, and found Draco's smiling face staring back at him. Confused, Harry slid the green bar across with his thumb.

"Hey?" He said, confusion still growing.

"Hi, sorry, dinner went on for ages. I have an interview first thing, I didn't find out until just now, so I'm going straight home. I'll come round tomorrow though, to hear your news, if that's okay?" Draco replied, the sounds of a taxi journey lingering dimly in the background.

"No, that's fine, so long as your not avoiding me." Harry teased.

"What? No, of course not. Why would I do that?" Draco replied, and Harry could hear the smile in his voice. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Yeah," Harry said, "Goodnight."

He'd barely finished saying the word when Draco hung up. Where before every cell in his body had been alive with apprehension and slight excitement, all he felt now was a cold that swept through his veins like a harsh ocean. He felt slightly numb, too, as he put his phone back where it had been before and wrestled into his thin sheets. There was something about the way Draco had spoken, the seemingly forced casual air in his voice, the abruptness of the conversation. It made Harry's skin crawl.

* * *

* * *

Draco was late as he rushed down the busy London street towards _The Copper Broomstick_ , his mind racing at a similar speed about how he was supposed to keep his head above water with a hectic schedule, eventual wedding to prepare for and telling Harry what had happened. Harry... He felt sick just thinking about it, about how he had effectively ended their relationship, because he knew that marrying Astoria was the end of what they had.

He found the reporter sat in a secluded corner of the breakfast bar, absent-mindedly stirring a cup of what Draco assumed to be tea. Her name was Song Moral, she had all the tell-tale signs of a reporter; manicured nails, made-up face, a quick-quotes quill laid out on the table already. Draco did not need this, this morning!

"Miss Moral, hello, sorry I'm late. You know London traffic, always hell in a morning." Draco greeted with false politeness, extending a hand for Song to shake.

"Not to worry, Mr Malfoy. Please, have a seat, there's a lot for us to discuss." Song replied, gesturing to the chair across from her, sitting down on her own. "Would you like to order anything?"

"No, thank you, I'm alright." Draco smiled. In truth, he didn't think he'd be able to stomach anything.

A waiter came by to drop off a plate of toast for Song, who thanked him politely, before turning back to Draco with a predatory glint in her eye. They - reporters - all had that same hungry expression, it made the hairs on the back on Draco's neck prickle, and his stomach turn. Bad things came from those looks.

"So, you're here to talk about the latest Weasley fashion line, but I have a few unrelated questions for you first." Song explained, and the quill on the table stirred in interest.

"All due respect, Miss Moral, I'd much prefer just to talk about the fashion line." Draco replied, nervousness creeping up on him.

"I understand, but you have to see this from my perspective. You're Harry Potter's co-captain, you surely knew people would have questions for you, too!" Song argued, frowning.

Draco mirrored her expression as he said, "Questions about what?"

"Well, did you know? Did he ever mention it to you?" Song asked, her voice dropping with a hushed excitement.

"Err, mention what?" Draco's frown deepened, he felt as though he was missing the punchline to a very funny joke - perhaps he was the joke, or at least his life was becoming one.

Song's eyes lit up, and a grin grew on her lips. She looked like a ravenous predator who had just caught scent of prey, a dangerous gleam in her iris', a dark tinge to her perfect smile. Draco wanted very much to be somewhere far, far, _far_ away from her and her cryptic questions.

"Did no one tell you?" She asked excitedly. Draco shot her a look that said, ' _duh_ ', which made her smile even more. "Mr Malfoy, your teammate, Harry Potter, is gay! He did an interview with Erica Kolman for the prophet last night about it. Harry Potter came out."

* * *

* * *

"Hermione, hi, what's up?" Harry asked groggily, answering his phone.

He'd just woken up from a restless sleep to the sound of his phone ringing where he'd left it after his blunt conversation with Draco the night before. His head ached, and his vision was blurred without his glasses or contacts. He felt tired not just in his body - which felt as though a ton of lead was weighing him down - but in his mind. He just wanted to roll himself up in his sheets and act like the petulant teenager he never quite got to be (and maybe spend the day curled up with Draco, but that's besides the point).

"Haven't you seen the Daily Prophet? Erica Kolman's story on you made it to the front page! Everyone's talking about it! I've had a phone call from just about every newspaper in the world wanting an interview with you! Everyone's jumping at the chance to say how much they support you. The WQA released a statement about how they won't allow homophobia in Quidditch, and they'll support you as well. Harry, you're basically a gay icon! You're a genius, I can't believe I didn't think of this myself." Hermione ranted, mostly to herself.

Harry half sighed-half growled and said, "That's great, Hermione, thanks."

He just wanted to go back to bed, to sleep, to anywhere that wasn't thinking because he felt like he had the world's worst hangover. And he had so much to do, and he had to talk to Draco and he had to face the press and it all felt like he was about to burst! This was why he hated the fame, and if it weren't for his love of the game, he'd probably quit on the spot some days.

"Listen, Harry, I've had an idea. What if for this photoshoot you're doing for the prophet in a few weeks you bring Mystery Guy along. Everyone'll go crazy, the prophet will get loads of sales from it and we'll be able to up the price." Hermione explained, barely breathing between sentences.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, "Mystery Guy isn't exactly into the whole publicity scene." _Liar_. "I don't think he's interested in becoming famous." _Pants on fire_. "And I don't think he's ready to come out." _Not a lie_...

"Oh, okay, well it was just an idea. Don't forget you're meeting with Nimbus in twenty at their offices. They said to use the Floo Network and someone'll meet you at exit number five - there'll be an elf there to greet you." Hermione reminded in a voice that sounded so much like the one Harry had always associated with Mrs Weasley. "Have a nice day."

"Yeah, you too." Harry replied, but Hermione had already hung up. Harry flopped back on the bed and just wanted his headache to go away.

* * *

* * *

Draco tried ringing for what must have been the billionth time. His heart was racing, mind muddled, somewhere between confusion and betrayal. Harry had come out to the entire world, and he hadn't even thought to mention it to Draco! Draco didn't need this sort of hurt, he had his own, bigger problems to deal with.

He was in a cab on his way to the Weasley's factory. He could apparate, but it always left him with a queasy feeling in his stomach, and he didn't think he could take that, the day he was having - _days_ really. So he called a cab, and began trying to get in touch with Harry. He needed answers!

His interview with Song had centred more on Harry than on the Weasley's line, and Draco hated every single second of it. _Did you know he was gay_? _How do you feel about having a gay teammate_? _Does this change anything between the two of you_? Question after stupid question, Draco was about ready to just up and leave mid-interview. He was polite, however, acting as though it was news to him but he fully supported Harry because they were teammates and friends, all with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Never before had he felt the need to down an entire bottle of tequila!

He arrived at Weasley's, paid the driver, and pressed the doorbell on the tall iron gates. He said his name to the automated voice which followed, and the gates swung open in a way that seemed so grand and extravagant, it was almost laughable. But Draco wasn't in a laughing kind of mood.

He walked up the long drive to the front door when he was met with one of Weasley's (Ron's) assistants - Lavender Brown. She gave him a bright smile as she led him through the factory to weasley's office. The factory was filled with very few wizards, as most of the clothes making was done by magic, and all the employees had to do was make sure the spells were working.

Lavender knocked lightly on Weasley's office door, and entered once she was given permission. Weasley sat in his office chair reading the Daily Prophet. Plastered on the front was a blown up picture of Harry catching the snitch at  match early on in the World Cup with the caption 'The Team Potter Really Plays For'. Draco's stomach dropped as he sat down in the chair opposite. Lavender lingered in the doorway for a few moments, before walking back out again, closing the door behind her.

"Did you know?" Weasley asked immediately, throwing the prophet down onto his desk.

"What?" Draco replied with a gormless expression on his face.

"About Harry!" Weasley exclaims as though it were obvious - which, Draco supposes, it probably was. "Did you know Harry's..." He trails off before he says the word, and Draco feels a very strong, sudden urge to slap him.

"No." He said frostily, "No I didn't know Harry was gay. I'm assuming you didn't either, despite being his best friend. But if you can't even say the word, I can see why he wouldn't tell you."

Weasley's signing Draco as its face and spokesperson was Harry's doing, just months after their first date. Harry had been signed to Nimbus, and Draco was complaining that he'd be easily forotten about, so Harry _somehow_ got Weasley to approach him with the job. Draco, desperate, agreed quite reluctantly. Their relationship was tense, but Draco was the best campaign guy they had, and Weasley's was what he was most recognised for. As much as they both hated to admit it, their arrangement was what was best for both of them.

"I'm not... I don't care that he's _gay_ , I just don't understand why he'd go to the press before me!" Weasley explained, pouting - yes, _pouting_.

"Honestly Ronald, he was never very subtle about it!" Hermione scolded, bursting into the room. "I mean, he's been dating some guy without telling us for months. I've asked, but he won't tell me who it is."

Draco leaned back into his chair wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. Draco knew that Hermione knew about Harry, Harry had told him that much. Draco could only imagine them, huddled together watching chick-flicks talking about boys, and it made him want to laugh and vomit simultaneously.

"I've told him to make his relationship public, cash in on all the fame he's getting, but he's said no. He's not very business minded, he's probably been hit by a bludger one too many times." Hermione continued, moving behind the desk to place a breif kiss on Weasley's cheek.

As much as Draco was revolted by the sight, he was also extremely jealous. Between his inability to out himself, and the looming wedding he was being forced into, he knew he would probably never be able to show off Harry the way he wanted to. He had this radical idea once to propose to Harry by buying him a 'Malfoy' jersey, and telling him it was for when he changed his name, but he was very drunk when he'd though of that.

"Look, as sickening as you two are, I'm here for a reason. I didn't give up my mid-morning to watch you two make heart eyes at each other." Draco snapped, letting his anger seep into his voice. He allowed himself a second to revel in the matching blushes spouting on both of their cheeks as Hermione took a giant step away from Weasley before continuing, "This new ad campaign, tell me about it."

* * *

* * *

Nimbus were so... understanding? The representative spoke in a soft voice, saying over and over how they fully supported both Harry and the LGBT community, and swore an oath to disallow any negative behaviour towards Harry based on his sexuality. The rep spoke like a lawyer and sat like a psychologist, and he made Harry's skin crawl.

Already Harry was sick of everyone offering their support, he didn't _need_ their support, he just needed to know no one was going to show up at his apartment in the middle of the night with a pitchfork spouting crap about how he was an abomination. He hadn't needed support when he figured out he was gay in his fifth year, and he didn't need it now, ten years later.

Harry knew Hermione was right about this Malone woman from Witch Weekley he was meeting with, she was going to ask questions everyone assumed all women wanted to know the answer to, it was a _Witch_ Weekly magazine article after all. And now? Now Harry knew everything would be so, so much worse. Now he would have to lie like crazy to keep her off the scent of his relationship with Draco - reporters can _smell_ secrets from a mile away!

Harry could only sit and dread...

* * *

* * *

The new ad campaign sounded good, especially for one of Weasley's ideas. Draco, a bunch of the very attractive gymnasts from the World Cup closing ceremony, and a black and white filter for the billboards. Classic, appealing, aesthetically pleasing and very heteronormative. For Draco, it was perfect! Pansy would be pleased. But, as she walked over to him, she didn't _look_ pleased.

Draco was sat in hair and make-up at his photoshoot, about to go in front of the camera. Pansy always went to his shoots, to make sure everything was as she expected them to be - perfect. What Draco did in the shoots was his choice, she was just there as a second opinion (and to stop him from making a total ass of himself).

"What is _this_?" She hissed, throwing a copy of the Daily Prophet into his lap.

"A newspaper, people read them to find out what's going on in the world." Draco replied sarcastically, tossing it onto the sofa next to him.

"Why is _Potter_ on the front page? _Both_ of you won that cup, why is _he_ the only one featured? Who do I have to sue, Draco?" Pansy all but growled.

Draco sighed and explained, "It's not about the cup, don't worry. He came out and everyone's losing their shit over it."

Pansy's eyes widened, a clear sign she was even angrier. " _What_?" She shouted, causing the make-up artist (who was packing away the make-up) to look up with a frown.

"What?" Draco echoed, frowning too. "Saint Potter's gay, what's the big deal?"

"This is publicity genius!" Pansy exclaimed, causing Draco's frown to deepen. "Coming out just after winning the world cup, I bet he and his PR manager have been planning this for ages."

Draco's earlier hurt at not being informed resurfaced. Pansy was right, this couldn't be a coincidence. Harry and Granger had to have been planning it since before the final. If England lost, it would keep all the bad press off Harry's back - 'Potter Loses World Cup Because of Emotional Turmoil Off the Pitch', 'Potter Struggles With Sexuality Causing Him to Lose World Cup'. And if, like they did, they won, it would be the perfect time because the press were already all over him. It was a win-win situatuion.

He'd been planning it for that long and hadn't even thought to consult Draco! I mean, it wasn't like Draco would have tried to stop him, he'd have just liked to have not walked into an interview with an annoying reporter at eight am to be bombarded with questions about Harry without knowing what to expect. He'd have liked for Harry to give him that, at least.

"Oh, you're on. Good look, and look good." Pansy said, drawing Draco from his thoughts.

Draco could only nod numbly and go to try and go on with life as normal.

* * *

* * *

Harry sat in his apartment, dreading when he'd have to leave it again. Colin had already buzzed up to say that there were reporters swarming outside, and to use the back entrance when he next left the building if he wanted to avoid the carnage. It was times like these when Harry wished he could hire a chauffer without looking like a big-headed dick like Cedric Diggory (the actor) did.

He hated the publicity already. This hadn't been what he wanted, though he supposed he should have expected it. He just wanted not to have to lie all the time anymore. He also wanted to show Draco that he could come out too, he didn't have to be scared of losing everything he had worked so hard for.

And in a way it had worked, only now he was left with interviews about broomsticks that turned into conversations full of not very subtle and mildly offensive euphemisms, and an inability to leave his apartment lest he have some twisted desire to probably _die_ from the media crush. _What joy_ , he thought bitterly.

He could only sit and fear his meeting with the Minister of Sport in Education and Draco... He'd purposefully not answered any of Draco's calls, too afraid of what he might hear if he did. He didn't even fully understand why he was so afraid, what could Draco say that was so bad? Harry didn't want to hear the answer to that question, either.

* * *

* * *

Draco muddled his way though the rest of his day with his mind mostly occupied by Harry. He felt such an utter sense of betrayal. Relationships were... _hard_ for him, opening up to someone and offering himself to them completely? The way people spoke about soulmates as if life wasn't complete until you found somebody? It all sounded so monumental and permanent, sometimes Draco had doubts.

But then he met Harry, all green eyes and half-smirks. An arrogance he deserved with the way he performed on a Quidditch pitch. He was kind with a sharp tongue and biting reply to everything. Draco, as much as he _hated_ to admit, had fallen for him. He had given himself to Harry, and he was repaid like this? Harry _knew_ how hard is was for Draco to trust people, but he trusted Harry, and Harry knew that too.

He stood staring at his reflection in the mirror that hung above the sink in his bathroom, wondering why the hell he let himself get drawn into Harry's world where he was allowed to love himself and learn to love someone else. It had distracted him from his real world and his real priorities. His father...

His father had always told him image and name were everything, and he's been so preoccupied with Harry he'd forgotten that. But it was okay, because Harry could have the public relationship he wanted with the next gay guy he met. And Draco, well, he was already as good as married. They could both have what they wanted. Or, at the very least, what they needed to get by. No one had to get their hearts broken and no one had to get butt hurt over the way things ended because it was in both of their best interests. Easy, right?

Then why did Draco feel as though he was making a huge mistake?

* * *

* * *

Harry was the last person to arrive at Le Balai d'Or, Lance Norton, Draco and even Hermione were already sat around a circular table in a quieter corner of the resteraunt. Hermione fixed him with a pointed look that screamed _YOU'RE LATE YOU IDIOT, BAD MOVE!_ And Draco gave him a look which seemed to say more than Harry could read from it, but then he was shaking hands with Norton, and his questioning glance was torn away.

"Mr Potter, truly an honour!" Norton greeted, "Please, sit."

Harry smiled as he sunk awkwardly into one of the over-stuffed dining chairs, next to Hermione and across from Norton. He shot a glance at Draco, who avoided his eye in a way that looked as though it were on purpose. Harry was in no fit state for Draco to start playing games.

"Order whatever you want." Norton beamed, "We could be here a while, mind. I have big plans!"

Norton seemed excitable, the sort of guy who appreciated the funny side of things and lived his life out of spite. Usually, they were Harry's favourite sort of people, all optimistic energy and 1000 watt smiles. But usually Harry's head didn't ache ceaselessly for no reason, and usually Harry didn't feel mysteriously sick.

"So, I was thinking we'd do the usual." Norton said after nearly half an hour of small talk, finally getting down to the business of why they were all even there in the first place. "Interviews, photoshoots, the same old same old. Then have the two of you visit schools across the country and do small workshops with them about the wonders of Quidditch and sport in general. Competitions to win meet and greets with the pair of you, letters written from you personally. The sorts of things that get kids interested."

"And what will my client get in return?" Hermione asked, looking up from where she was focused on cutting into her steak.

Norton's eyebrows shot up, and the shocked expression on his face was nearly comical. He looked as though someone had just asked him to fight a Hungarian Horntail with his bare hands! He shook his head, and the grin Harry had grown to associate with him reappeared on his face.

"Miss _Granger_ , is it?" Norton asked, waited for Hermione to nod, then continued. "Well, Miss Granger, this is strictly voluntary. The Sports in Education council can't afford to pay two of the most expensive Quidditch players in England for their services! Money's tight as it is!"

"I don't think you quite understand the magnitude of fame and _fortune_ that comes associated with Harry Potter's name. He can't use his face on campaigns without a small fee." Hermione explained, her voice taking on a harsh tone Harry heard he use increasingly often.

Both Harry and Draco stayed silent throughout the exchange both because their minds were on other things, but because they wanted to see how far Hermione would push. They knew how far people in the industry would go to get what they wanted, and were both guilty of pushing too hard themselves. It was ugly, and Harry hated it. Draco just thought of it as part of the job.

Finally, Harry had had enough. "I'll do it." He said to Norton, then added, "For free," to Hermione. "A chance for more kids to fall in love with Quidditch? I'm game."

"Me too." Draco said from in the corner. Harry had almost forgotten he was there. "Can't have my co-captain stealing all the limelight, can I?" He added, punctuating it with a pointed look in Harry's direction, which made Harry frown.

Norton grinned as though he had just been gifted the greatest present in the world and said, "Wonderful, just wonderful! I can't wait to tell the rest of council!"

Harry tried a grin back, but he feared it came out as more of just a grimace. He just wanted to leave, listen to the inevitable lecture from Hermione, and go home to bed. Go home to sleep until his head didn't feel like someone was beating it with a hammer, and his mouth didn't feel as dry as the Sahara desert.

The meal didn't last much longer after, just enough time to eat desert and discuss the World Cup victory. Draco tried to avoid Harry's eye as much as possible, scared if he didn't he'd end up losing it and causing a scene in the middle of the restaurant. He noticed Hermione staring daggers in Harry's direction, looking at him as though he had just suggested exploding the Ministry of Magic. The meal seemed to drag on forever!

Finally, it ended with Norton thanking everyone for their time, and handing both Hermione and Draco a copy of the future schedules. "To pass onto your PA, Miss Parkinson," He added to Draco as he passed him his. Draco smiled tightly and thanked him. Norton left the restaurant with Hermione and Harry, but Draco stayed to use the bathroom.

"I told you to let me handle negotiations!" Hermione hissed as soon as Norton was a safe distance away so he couldn't hear, stood in the restaurant entrance next to the Floo Network entrances. "You can't afford to do things for free, Harry, it's not good for your rep or you bank balance."

"But it is good for publicity, show me as a caring guy who wants to help all the boys and girls who aren't doing enough exercise in schools, always so selfless." Harry argued, mocking the reporters he often saw accentuating every word with an eccentric tone.

Hermione scoffed. "I just hope you know what you're doing Harry, because I certainly don't. Coming out was a stroke of genius, this publicity stunt might come back to bite you on the arse."

"You're nicer when Ron's here." Harry fake-pouted, "I _wonder_ why that is?"

"Shut up, Harry!" Hermione hissed, but the grin gave her away. "And you were less annoying _last_ week."

"Bye Hermione." Harry said, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek.

"Goodbye, Harry." Hermione replied, stepping backwards into the grate. She said her desired destination (home) clearly before disappearing behind a cloud of thick green flames.

Harry thought about using the Floo Network to get home, but then decided it wasn't _that_ far to walk, and the exercise would do him some good. He began walking out of the restaurant, stepping through the tall glass door into the city beyond, when he heard his name being called behind him. He spun around and found Draco jogging to get to him.

"Hi," Draco breathed as soon as he caught up, letting the glass door close behind him.

"Hi," Harry echoed, voice slightly stiff.

"Can, um, can we talk. Please." Draco said, eyes somewhat pleading.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I was going to walk home, but we can use the Floo Network, it'll be quicker." He added, stepping closer to the door back into the restaurant.

Draco nodded his reply, not trusting his voice to work, all the negative feelings rushing back to him with his true feelings for Harry laying above them.

* * *

* * *

Draco sat awkwardly on Harry's sofa after the pair made it back to Harry's apartment. It was all so familiar, Draco spent most of his time there, but this time was different. It could be the last time, and Draco felt that a huge weight was weighing him down, crushing his chest and constricting his breaths. Harry was making tea, and Draco felt slightly apprehensive that he'd be wearing his shortly.

"So, uh, what do you want to talk about." Harry asked, reappearing in the room with a tray holding two cups of tea and a plate of ginger biscuits ( _domestic bastard_ ).

Harry sat down, placing the tray on the coffee table. He began fiddling with the biscuits, moving the plate around. He nudged Draco's tea slightly more towards Draco, and took a sip of his own. He took a biscuit and ate it, munching obnoxiously loudly, the way that used to annoy Draco no end, but he found slightly endearing after nearly a year of enduring it.

Draco played with a thread in the sleeve of his jacket, avoiding Harry's eye for the second time that night. He didn't want this, it wasn't _fair_! He wanted to live happily with Harry making him tea and giving him amazing blow jobs. He wanted to go to the prophet and tell them that he and Harry were together and in love and happy and the cutest couple ever and the biggest power couple and... _And_ , he wanted Harry's sleepy smile to be the first thing he saw when he woke up. He wanted to roll over when he had nightmares and feel safe in Harry's arms, and know that Harry was always going to be there to catch him when he fell. And, he'd fallen hard...

"We... I..." Draco stuttered. He told himself to breathe and tried again. "We need to break up."

Harry froze. He stared at Draco, hoping that it was some sick joke. But Draco didn't break into a tell-tale grin or yell 'gotcha'. Instead he continued to stare daggers at the coffee table like it had personally offended him. Harry thought he saw tears appear in Draco's eyes, but he must have been mistaken because Draco never cried, ever.

"I'm sorry but, you're out now, people will expect you to start dating. And I..." Draco paused to lick his lips and gather his thoughts.

"You?" Harry prompted, his voice too high and too tight.

"My father has said he wants me to get married soon, and I agree with him. My rep relies on me finding a nice woman without a past who has a good job, marrying her, and having a load of Malfoy juniors." Malfoy explained, every word feeling like a stab to the heart.

"Your rep?" Harry breathed.

He knew Draco was constantly worried about his reputation, it was everything to him. They lived in a world where a bad rep was the equivalent of a life sentence, and no one wanted that. But Harry - optimistic, naïve little Harry - had believed that perhaps Draco cared about him more! He had been so stupid...

"You're breaking up with me because of your reputation?" Harry said, louder. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm sorry." Draco mumbled fighting the tears.

It was killing him, he was hurting and Harry was hurting and it was his fault. But then, hadn't it been Harry who tried to steal all the publicity after winning the cup? Hadn't it been Harry who doomed his reputation, his _family_ 's reputation with his bright ideas and pep-talks? Hadn't it been Harry who had ruined what they had for the sake of his face on the front page?

"You should go." Harry choked. "You should go!" Harry repeated louder when Draco didn't move. Draco got the message, stood up, and began walking towards the door. "Draco." Harry called, surprised by the strength of his own voice. Draco half-turned to face him and he said, "Go out the back unless you want the press to see you."

Draco nodded numbly before leaving the apartment, hoping that by some miracle he might get home before he burst into tears.

* * *

* * *

"Draco, meet Astoria Greengrass." Lucius Malfoy announced louder than was necessary in the long dinning room which echoed horribly.

"Hello," Asotria greeted, extending a hand.

Draco supposed she was quite beautiful, long brown hair, hazel eyes and pale skin. He accepted her extended hand and placed a quick kiss on her knuckle. He noticed the blush and coy smile, and tried his hardest not to think of Harry - at all! They hadn't spoken for nearly two weeks, and every time his name came up in conversation - which it did, a lot - he felt like someone was squeezing his heart in their fist.

"It's, uh, wonderful to meet you." Draco replied, trying to sound sincere.

Lucius gestured for everyone to sit down at the dinner table. Everyone being Draco and his mother joined by Astoria and her parents. Lucius said it was just a friendly dinner between two families, but Draco knew it was a ploy to get him and Astoria on friendly terms, and open an opportunity for Draco to begin _courting_. Draco wondered if taking a run and jump out of the tall stain glass window at the end of the room would be enough to kill him.

* * *

* * *

"No offence mate, but what do you have to look so glum about?" Ron asked around a mouth full of chocolate from the chocolate frog he held in his hand.

"Honestly Ronald, have you no tact?" Hermione scolded, pausing rubbing Harry's back long enough to shoot Ron a disapproving look. "Harry, I know this is awful for you, and I hate to be insensitive but as your manager I must advise you don't allow yourself to lose sight of your career."

"I know Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, getting to his feet. "I know I can't let my broken hear distract me from career and interviews and all the other stuff, but right now I just want to listen to Waking In Time songs on repeat and eat as many chocolate frogs as I can until I feel sick. Then I want to burn every picture of _him_ I can find and send him anonymous hate mail. I know it's been a month and I'm being pathetic but I don't care, so if you aren't going to let me wallow in self pity then just leave!"

"Crikey, mate, he must have meant a lot to you." Ron observed as Harry sat back down and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder, who just continued to rub Harry's back.

* * *

* * *

"...I was head girl at Bauxbatons, I got the highest OWL and NEWT scores in my class, I was the youngest person ever to be hired as Minister of Media and Press..." Astoria boasted.

Draco hated it. She seemed lovely, she was pretty and pure-blood and everything Draco was supposed to want in a girl, but she was so boring. Her entire life everything was perfect, she didn't much care for Quidditch, and her life revolved around her work. She was the type of person Witch Weekly was written for and Draco hated it. She didn't tease or challenge him, didn't offer him sarcastic remarks or blatant innuendo.

This was their third official date and it was at Le Balai d'Or, of all places. It was two months after they had first met, and every hour spent with her was worse than the one before. Draco felt dreadful for being so mean towards her, but couldn't see why he was being forced to be put through this. He didn't understand why he was doing this to himself! Surely there were better ways to keep a good reputation? Ways that didn't involve Draco pretending he cared about what Bauxbatons' food was like!

* * *

* * *

This was Harry's fifth, no, sixth date since Draco had broken up with him. The guys name was Samuel or Seth or something beginning with 'S'. Harry wasn't sure because all the guys were the same, just wanting to be with him for his fame and fortune. Hermione had been the one to tell Harry he should just start dating again, that 'the one' was out there waiting for him, he just had to find him. Harry told her if she knew so much about dating and relationships, she should just tell Ron how she felt about him and stop pining for him - it was sickening watching them, honestly.

The guy was hot - ridiculously so - with dark hair and dark eyes. Harry refused to date blondes, too afraid of what might happen if he did. They all reminded him so much of Draco, and all it did was make his heart ache for better, happier times when he and Draco were still together. Instead he was left feeling empty in every sense of the word. Empty, and alone.

Draco had moved on. Some girl called Astoria who was pure-blood and worked at the ministry, they'd been dating for three months. Harry thought it was laughable that she was everything Lucius wanted Draco to be, and that _that_ was probably the reason why they were together. For the Malfoy 'reputation'. It made Harry feel sick.

* * *

* * *

_"The Qualifiers are in a few weeks. You and Potter are meeting for lunch next Friday at one to talk about teams. Might I suggest you meet somewhere private so none of the other teams know about who you choose until the day. Also, try not looking miserable today, Draco, it would be a nice change."_

* * *

* * *

"Why does it have to be my apartment, why not a coffee shop or a café or a restaurant or _anywhere else_!" Harry whined.

"Look, Pansy asked for your apartment, Draco agreed, this is where you're meeting, so stop acting like a child and get over it." Hermione scolded, "This way the team stays secret up until the first qualifier."

"But this is my apartment, Hermione! Like, sacred ground! I don't have to put up with press or obnoxious, annoying, pure-blood arse holes that go by the name Draco Malfoy!" Harry complained, flailing his arms wildly.

"Enough!" Hermione shouted, "Stop being a brat, Harry. I've been nice these last few months because you were dealing with your break-up from Mystery Guy, but now it's back to business, back to Quidditch!"

Harry, _extremely_ reluctantly, agreed, but only so Hermione would stop shouting.

* * *

* * *

It was all so familiar, the building looming over him, the not-so-subtle photographers lingering outside hoping to catch sight of _Harry Potter, England Seeker_! Everyone wanted a piece of Harry. The crazy reporters had died down, moved onto other things. They'd get hooked on Quidditch again once the Euros began, but for now there was something new to obsess over. Draco, surprisingly, was glad of the break from seeing his and Harry's faces on the front page of every newspaper.

Draco walked into the lobby through the less familiar front door - he was so used to sneaking out back so no one would grow suspicious as to why he was sneaking out of Harry Potter's apartment first thing in the morning, most likely wearing the same clothes as the day before, looking entirely pissed off that he had to leave the warm cocoon of Harry's sheets with Harry himself laid beside him. But that was all in the past. Draco had a girlfriend, Harry had a new fling every other week (according to Pansy who followed the gossip column about him in some cringey women's magazine).

Draco smiled at Colin, who looked surprised to see him. "M-Mr M-Malfoy?" He stuttered, looking at the photographers outside, aghast. "W-What are y-you doing here?"

"I'm here to talk to Harry about the qualifiers team." Draco replied, nonchalantly. " _That's all_." He added pointedly.

Colin nodded, a frown settling on his face. Colin was the one person in the world who had known about he and Harry, which came about purely by accident. Harry hadn't answered his buzzer, and poor Colin had grown worried so he'd gone to investigate, only to find Draco and Harry in a rather _compromising_ position. Somehow, Harry had managed to talk him into staying quiet, but then Harry was good at that.

Draco stepped into the elevator, feeling his palms grow damp with sweat. It was first time they'd be seeing each other in five months, and Draco couldn't help but feel incredibly nervous. He wasn't sure how awkward it was going to be, but that wasn't what he was worried about, anyway. He was scared that he'd take one look at Harry and all the feelings he had, by some miracle, managed to supress would come rushing back to him and he'd go rushing back to Harry. But that couldn't happen because of Astoria and his father and his reputation.

And, he had to let Harry move on, too. He couldn't mess Harry around, make him think there was a chance for them to be together for real and then rip that hope away from him when they had to return to real life. The _feelings_ they'd shared, they were as real for Harry as they were for Draco, and it wouldn't be fair to mess about with them.

All too soon the elevator reached Harry's floor, and as the doors opened, Draco caught sight of Harry's door. He'd pressed Harry against that door once. He was very slight tipsy, and Harry was as always such a gentleman, carrying him home. Harry looked good, really good, and he smelled good and his voice sounded good and arms felt good wrapped around Draco to support him. Draco wanted to see if he tasted as good, so he moved and gripped Harry's hips with his hands, and pushed him against the door. Their mouths latched together like they were what they each needed to stay alive. Draco decided that Harry tasted _very_ good.

But Draco shouldn't be thinking about that, he should be thinking about who they should choose as beaters and chasers for their team. Draco thought they should stay with who they played at the World Cup... When Harry had kissed him in the locker room. But Katie Bell was extremely good as a chaser, and they had played her in one of the early World Cup games... Which they had celebrated a win by fucking in their hotel room. Or Zacharias Smith who had played in the premier league and been extremely good. He'd played once as a sub in a World Cup qualifying match against Sri Lanka, which they did lose through Harry being injured early on... But Draco took _good_ care of him.

Draco shook himself from his thoughts. He had made it to Harry's door, and was telling himself that Harry was _only_ his teammate, as the door swung open revealing some guy Draco didn't recognise immediately. Draco could see Harry, the beginnings of a blush creeping into his cheeks, stood behind him. Then Draco recognised him, Ivan Gargoriav, the Swedish chaser.

"Bye Potter," He said over his shoulder as Draco let him pass.

Draco looked back at Harry, who disappeared into his apartment, embarrassment evident on his face. Draco followed him in, and closed the door behind him. He walked into Harry's living room and found Harry sitting on his sofa, head in his hands, glasses on - Draco loved Harry in his glasses, he thought they were sexy- _had_ thought they were sexy - looking like he wished the floor would swallow him whole.

"Well that's one way to psyche out the competition, I suppose." Draco joked, hoping to lighten the mood slightly.

Instead of laughing like Draco hoped he would, Harry leaped up, embarrassment replaced by rage. " _You don't get to say anything about who I date_!" he hissed, " _You lost the right to when you broke up with me_!"

"Hey, sorry, it was a joke. Sleep with who you want, just don't end up with some STI that stops you from playing." Draco replied, holding his hands up in surrender.

Harry frowned, "So you're calling me a whore? Or saying that I'm that stupid I don't cast protection spells before I sleep with anyone, or just use a condom?"

"No, look, Harry, I'm just saying that if we have any hope in qualifying for the Euros, we need our best Seeker on the field. We don't want another Sri Lanka incident." Draco soothed.

Harry's expression changed slightly, a far away look falling on his face, and Draco realised he was thinking what Draco had been thinking, about what happened _after_ the Sri Lanka incident. Something that _would not_ be happening again because it couldn't, and they had a job to do.

"Weasley." Harry said suddenly, shaking himself from his thoughts. "Me, you, Weasley, Marx, Isaacs, Zacharias Smith and Kira Melton. That, uh, should be our team. If Smith and Melton play bad, we'll swap them out."

Draco silently thanked Harry for changing the subject, followed Harry's lead in sitting down (Draco sat on the arm chair across from the couch because being too close to Harry could end in disaster), and said, "What about Katie Bell, she was on your team at Hogwarts, right? She was good then and she's amazing now. Let Weasley do most of the broom work and let Bell and Marx worry about scoring. We'll have Melton on you and Isaacs on them, she only has to protect one, right? We'll still have the other."

Harry nodded and replied, "Bell can be a wild card. She has games where she totally flops."

"So does Smith." Draco argued, standing up. "But you've played with Bell, you know her, you'll get a good game out of her." He added pacing.

"But Smith was voted man of the season by his team? He's playing the best he ever has." Harry countered, frowning.

Draco sat on the sofa forgetting all the awkwardness, too wrapped up in the conversation to care anyway. "And if the pressure's too much for him?"

"The pressure could get too much for anyone."

"Yeah but he's, what, twenty? Bell's experienced, she's less likely to crack."

"What if we had both and left Marx as a reserve. You said yourself she's a scorer. Weasley and Smith can do the broomwork, so even if Smith collapses we've got Weasley to fall back on."

Draco nodded his agreement. "Sounds like we've got out team," he grinned.

And just like that they were kissing. It was sudden and neither knew who had started it, just that it felt good. Familiar and comfortable, and it wasn't pretend, they weren't acting like they wanted it; they really did. Harry tugged at Draco's jacket, and Draco took the hint, shrugging it off whilst trying to touch as much of Harry as possible. Next came their t-shirts, all but torn off and discarded without real thought, both too impatient. It had been so long... It didn't take long until they were tugging at jean zips and kicking of their boxer shorts. Too late too go back...

* * *

* * *

Draco woke up a few hours later with Harry laid half on top of him, face buried in his neck, and it felt so right despite how he knew it was so wrong. This was the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen. Sure, they'd managed to decide on a team, but then Draco had let his guard down - Harry, too, probably - and he'd not stopped what they'd both started. He thought of Astoria, how he was using her and how, in a way, she was using him right back. And of Harry, who didn't use anyone, and dreamed of soulmates and real love. Draco then thought of himself and how sick and twisted he must be to let them both be put through this.

Harry, who was awake and had felt Draco stirring beneath him, stayed exactly where he was. In truth, he was afraid. He knew what came next, the conversation which _had_ to follow what they just did. Draco would say that it couldn't happen again because of Astoria and his damn reputation. Harry, hurt, would yell and shout until his throat ached. Draco would leave, and Harry would curl into a ball and cry. Then, when the first team training session came round, it would be really awkward but they'd have to somehow muddle through it for the sake of their team. And, it would all be literal hell.

Instead, Draco very softly said, "I'm sorry," into Harry's hair.

Harry lifted his head to look Draco in the eye and asked, "For what?"

Draco smiled a strange, nostalgic sort of smile and explained, "For not treating you as good as I should have. For letting myself get caught up in the name game, and for caring more about my reputation than us. For letting you go, because that was a mistake. And for today, because-"

" _Because_ this can never happen again." Harry interrupted, looking away from Draco.

He rolled off Draco with pursed lips, and fumbled around for his glasses and a clean pair of boxers from inside the drawer of his bedside table. He waited a minute, willing the tears prickling at his eyes not to fall, at least until Draco had left. When he felt confident enough he wasn't going to cry, he turned back to Draco who wore a pained expression on his face.

"We're over." Harry stated, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "You have a girlfriend and I have about fifty guys who want to date me. We have a Quidditch tournament to think about, we can't let our history get in the way of that."

"What are you proposing?" Draco asked, frowning in confusion. Harry was just listing things he already knew.

"Nothing." Harry replied, frowning. "What I'm saying is that I can keep what we had at bay if you can. Otherwise, we'll always come back to this place."

"What place?" Draco whispered.

"Goodbye." Harry answered, and this time his voice did crack.

He nearly leaped from the bed and hurried into the bathroom before the tears could come. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, eyes red already, unruly hair even messier than usual, and suddenly he wasn't angry with Draco anymore. He was mad at himself for being drawn in over and over when it always ended the same. Draco always chose his family's name, and Harry was always left to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, and he let it happen to himself. Straightening up, he vowed to himself, never again.

Draco rushed into Harry's living room where their clothes were scattered across the floor and sofa. He dressed quickly, hoping to leave before he did something stupid like tell Harry this time he was choosing him. He knew, though, that he couldn't. For his father, for his reputation and for Harry, he couldn't do it. He couldn't ruin Harry like that, Harry didn't deserve it, and Draco didn't have the right to anymore.

Harry appeared in his bedroom doorway wearing some grey jogging bottoms, toned chest on show, and Draco clenched his fists into tight balls, fingernails nipping at his palms. He couldn't hurt Harry anymore. He'd left Harry heartbroken enough times already, he couldn't do that anymore. If Harry hated him, well, then that was probably for the best.

"I'm, uh, going to go now. Do you want me to submit the team to the manager or..." Draco trailed off at Harry's scowl.

"I'll do it," Harry hissed, "You just show up to training and flash a smile at the right reporters, okay."

"Hey, I may be a dick, but it wasn't me who cashed in on my own fucking sexuality. I didn't throw you under the bus." Draco sneered.

"Cashed in... You are a fucking arse hole, Malfoy. I came out because I was sick of hiding and because I was guinea pigging myself to see what the backlash was so then maybe _you_ could come out too. I could have sacrificed my career so we could have a future, don't you dare act like I was throwing you under the bus!" Harry explained, voice laced with anger.

"Oh, Saint Potter strikes again!" Draco exclaimed, "Why don't they just fucking _knight you_ already!"

"Leave." Harry spat venomously. When Draco didn't move Harry yelled, " _Get out_!"

Draco scoffed, grabbed his coat, and stormed through the apartment and into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He teared down the hallway and slammed a finger onto the elevator button. In truth, he wasn't angry, it was just easier to yell and stomp and pout than address his real feelings. He growled and went to punch something, before remembering where he was and who was waiting for him outside. He needed to calm down, fast. He tried deep breathing, slowing his eyes and courting the seconds between each breath, but when he closed his eyes all he could see was Harry, and that just made his heart ache more.

* * *

* * *

Harry had been right when he had predicted training sessions would be incredibly awkward. Between Zacharias thanking him constantly for the opportunity to play, and Ginny asking for pointers on how to improve her game, Harry could almost forget about the mess he and Draco had made of their relationship. Until the manager's meeting at the last training session before their first match.

Harry crowded into the room last, looking at the coaches, manager, sponsors and finally Draco He tore his eyes away mere seconds after they fell upon the blonde, instead turning to the manager who had just stood up from his chair. The manager raised a hand to signal quiet, and silence fell immediately.

"I'll be honest," He said in a gruff voice, addressing Harry and Draco specifically. " When you suggested Bell and Smith instead of Marx and Smitt I was a bit apprehensive. If I didn't like you both so much, I'd probably have overridden that decision, but they've proved me wrong. You chose well, we have a good, strong team ready to kick France's butts next week."

A few cheers came from around the room, but then the head coach stood up next to the manager, and silence fell again. "Their new manager, Phillipe Benoit, played dirty when he was still a player. I'm talking bumphing, haverstacking, stooging." The head coach explained.

"What position did he play?" Harry asked, horrified that someone could commit so many offences.

"Seeker," coach replied, raising his eyebrows pointedly. "So, we think the French might be playing dirty, too. Watch out. Especially you, Malfoy. Benoit always did have a particular hate for keepers."

"As usual we'll be watching from the stands." The manager said after a short pause for the words to settle in. "If we feel the need to, we'll intervene, but after your impressive performance at the World Cup Final, I doubt we'll have to. Rest up for next week, be on you A game for the match."

* * *

* * *

The day of the match rolled around all too quickly for Draco's liking. He had spent the last week receiving not so subtle hints from his father about how he was dragging on the issue of a Malfoy-Greengrass wedding happening anytime soon. Then there was the insurmountable guilt and sadness Draco felt every time someone mentioned Harry's name to him.

"You realise nearly 100 people in the Quidditch came out after Potter's stunt, and he's gotten off with just about every one of them." Pansy said on the Thursday before the match. "I'd watch out, Draco, he might move onto the straight one's next."

The more he got to know her, the less of a nice person Astoria seemed to be. She slowly became more self-centred and obnoxious, and Draco despised having to spend time with her more and more. She had no sense of humour, was a complete prude and totally refused to discuss Quidditch - ever.

Draco's life was slowly becoming more and more hellish as the days went by.

* * *

* * *

 

"Ron and I will be there, you have nothing to worry about, Harry!" Hermione soothed, playing with Harry's hair as he laid across his sofa with his head on Hermione's lap.

Ron sat in the armchair across from them, a faint smile tugging at his lips. These were Harry's (new) favourite kind of days. When it was just the three of them relaxing, talking, making jokes, the way they used to when they were still back at Hogwarts. With their busy careers, they didn't have time to hang out as much anymore, but they did their best to make time for one another.

"Yes but we've never played a team who used dirty tactics before." Harry complained, "What if they kill Malfoy? Then we've got to rely on an average keeper instead of a good one. Then it's up to me to catch the snitch fast, but what if I get inured like in the World Cup qualifier."

"Mate, I thought Hermione was the worrier." Ron teased, catching Hermione's eye for a moment before looking away, his ears turning a deep shade of crimson. "You'll be fine, you know you will. If you lose this one, there are still loads of games you've got to play to earn your place in the Euros."

But that didn't make Harry feel any better at all.

* * *

* * *

"... _And here comes French Chaser and Captain, Ariane Parapluie. She's the first female captain of the French team ever. She's a huge hit with the ladies and the gentlemen alike. She came out as bisexual earlier this month claiming that Harry Potter gave her the courage to do so. She also beat cancer earlier this year, and is now healthy enough to re-take her place as the French Quidditch team captain._ "

From where the stood anxiously in the tunnel, Harry and Draco could hear the thunderous roar of the crowd, the booming voice of the commentator, and their own hearts beating hard in their chests. Draco was half tempted to reach out and squeeze on of Harry's hands to make them feel better, but he feared it would just make things worse. The QWA rep nodded his head that them, and they made their way onto the pitch, feigning confidence.

"... _And here they come! Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, the two captains of the English Quidditch team! They led their country to victory during the World Cup, and are already favourites for the Euros, and they haven't even qualified yet! Potter's been seen recently with famous fashion designer, Ronald Weasley. Could there be another high profile coming out this year, we'll have to wait and see. And Draco Malfoy is dating Astoria Greengrass, a member of the council for Media and Press, a well paired couple if ever there was one._ "

Harry and Draco shook hands with Ariane, who grinned at the both excitedly. Next, they shook hands with Comet Lukas, the referee for the match. Lukas was a fickle referee, sometimes he was extremely good at what he did, and others he accidently let obvious fouls slide. It didn't help Harry's nerves at all to know that.

"... _As usual, Lukas is going to go over the rules for the captains, and then they'll be granted an hour to go over tactics with their teams. In that time, Waking In Time will perform some songs from their new album, Commercial Art. What a treat for you here today! Yep, I think Lukas has done with the rules and now the captains are making their way back down the tunnels to talk to their teams..._ "

Harry and Draco remained silent as they made their way back down the tunnel and into their team's changing room. Everyone was ready, pumped for the game, but nervous for the outcome. This time, Ginny felt more at ease, but she couldn't help but worry she was going to do something really stupid and Draco would start shouting at them again. She cursed herself mentally, and told herself she _wasn't_ going to mess up, not today.

Silence fell as the captains entered the room. Harry grinned and spoke first, "I know you're all worried, I don't care. We're on Nimbus' best brooms, we're a strong team and we work as a unit, it isn't every man for himself out there. _That_ is our advantage, we play as a team. You have all played so well in training, now it's time to go out there and show Europe what English Quidditch players really look like!"

"Bell, I want you to move around the pitch, don't just stay near the rings. Take as many shots as you can, but if Weasley or Smith is there, they should take them too. We can recycle the tactics from the cup, but we have to change them enough that the other team won't know what we're doing." Draco explained, looking at each of the player's faces one by one. "Isaacs, make sure Potter stays Bludger free as much as possible, but don't hover around him like you did with Marx at the cup. Try and stay at my end of the pitch if possible, we don't know how dirty they're going to play. Jones, you stay on the chasers, make sure they just have to worry about passing and scoring. It won't be the end of the world if we lose today, but I know that doesn't matter because we _won't_ lose today."

Neither Harry nor Draco could keep from grinning as they made their way through the cheering changing room to the Captain's quarters. Draco entered first, Harry second, and they let the door close on it's own. Draco went and sat at the desk, resting his feet on the solid oak. Harry sat on the floor, and began tying and un-tying his laces the way he always did when he got nervous before a match.

"What will it take to get you to stop doing that?" Draco frowned.

Harry's own expression reflected Draco's as he said, "The thing that used to calm me down, you decided we couldn't do anymore."

"Yeah, like this is all my fault." Draco scoffed.

"You broke up with me, remember?" Harry reminded venomously.

Their bickering was interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, who grumbled as he went to open it. Harry stayed sat on the floor, his mood sour. His bad mood only worsened when Lucius Malfoy walked into the room, his tall frame towering above Harry where he was seated. Almost reflectively, Harry scrambled to his feet. Malfoy senior gave Harry the creeps.

"Mr Potter, wonderful to see you, it has been so very long since the last time." Lucius said, and Harry could hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Father," Draco said, and Harry thought his ears must be deceiving him when it sounded almost like a threat. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you here?"

"To deliver this," Lucius replied, reaching into his thick black robes.

He pulled out a small, aegean, velvet box. Harry swore his heart stopped when he saw the Debiti Decoris logo on the top of the box. Harry could guess what was inside, and when Lucius opened the box in display of grandeur, his worst fears were realised. Inside, glimmering in the bright lights, was a diamond wedding ring.

"It was your grandmother's. I thought perhaps today would be a good day to propose? Astoria will be in the crowd, when you win she'll rush from the stands to embrace you, then you'll ask her the question." Lucius explained. He phrased it like a suggestion, but Draco knew that really it was an order.

"We might lose." Draco replied, trying to sound calm despite his dry mouth, sweaty palms and erratic heart beat.

"Then you'll say you'll always be a winner her by your side." Lucius frowned, before his nonchalant exterior returned. "Whatever you need to say to seduce her, Draco. I know you can do it."

That was the last thing Lucius said before he left the room, allowing the door to close slowly behind him. Draco held the ring box tentatively in his hand, and stared at the jewel. It was so fancy and expensive, and everything Astoria would want from a ring. But it also meant that this was real, he was actually going to marry her! They'd been dating a matter of months, surely it was still too soon!

"Congratulations." Draco heard from somewhere in the room, and when he looked up, Harry was staring at him. "Your rep will definitely be safe after you give her that."

With that, Harry left too, leaving Draco alone with the ring and an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut.

* * *

* * *

"... _The game begins with Mains in possession of the Quaffle- She dodges a bludger knocked her way by Melton, but drops the Quaffle in the process- Smith catches it and flies up the pitch- He passes to Weasley as he dodges a bludger sent by Reves- Weasley continues up the pitch- Weasley throws to Bell- Bell aims and shoots- It's knocked away by Garcons straight into the hands of Weasley who aims and shoots and scores!_ "

Harry circled the pitch as usual, but his mind was somewhere else completely. His gaze kept drifting to where Draco was protecting the rings, or to where Astoria Greengrass sat in the top-box with Lucius Malfoy and his wife. He caught flashes of gold, but was too slow to react and lost it seconds afterwards. He growled at himself as he barely managed to dodge a bludger sent his way by Guerre, a French beater. He couldn't play like this, not if they wanted to win!

"... _Nearly three quarts of an hour into the game, France leads by ten points- Malfoy seems to be somewhere else- Allonger shoots and Malfoy's too slow to react, another ten points to France- This is not the keeper we saw at the world cup! He throws the Quaffle back to Smith- Smith passes to Weasley- Weasley takes it all the way up the pitch and passes to Bell- Bell shoots as Isaacs hits a bludger towards Garcons- Bell scores! Ten points to England!_ "

Harry looked over at Draco, who was frowning and muttering to himself. He was, Harry realised, just as distracted as Harry, if not more so. Harry realised then that they needed to catch the snitch soon if they had any hope of winning the match. He pushed all thoughts of Draco and Astoria to the back of his mind, and focused on the very important task at hand - the snitch.

" _...We reach an hour and a half of play, and it's neck and neck- Weasley has the Quaffle- She dodges a bludger but keeps hold of the Quaffle- She passes to Smith who's slow on the uptake- Parapluie catches it and moves up the pitch- Isaacs and Jones send bludges in her direction, but she dodges the both- She shoots and Malfoy is just a second too slow- Another ten points to France who take the lead._ "

Harry was sick of hearing that France had scored. It had been nearly twenty minutes since England had even gotten to the scoring area, France led by thirty points, and Harry was getting anxious. They were playing clean, sure, but they were also playing _really_ well. He had just about given up hope when he saw it, a flash of gold right in front of him.

He followed the flash to just above Hadien Avant (the French Seeker)'s head, and began to circle the pitch again, hoping not to make it too obvious what he was doing. As he got closer, he saw that there was actually a fair bit of space between Avant's head and the snitch - enough space for him to catch it if he played this well. Avant remained apparently unaware that the key to winning the game was right above him, but Harry wasn't complaining. He creeped closer and closer until....

He zoomed forwards, causing Avant to look up and catch sight of the snitch, but by then it was too late. Harry already had one hand grasping it, holding it high above his head, shouting his celebration. His team joined in his yells of joy, as they began following Harry back to the grass at the bottom of the pitch. Harry heard the commentator excitedly announcing England's win booming from the speakers above him, but he could hardly care about what they had to say.

His feet hit the ground with a thud, which echoed as his teammates landed close by him, and sprinted over for a group hug. Harry looked over at Draco who managed a small grin in his direction, before turning away, towards the top-box which was now empty. Knowing what was to come, Harry's stomach dropped.

He saw Draco's parents appear at the England tunnel at the same time Draco did, and Draco felt like he might actually throw up. Post-game team parties, followed by a weekend of pure sex with Harry were how Draco usually celebrated a big win, but not anymore. Not this time. The ring felt heavy in his pocket as he met his parents halfway. Astoria was trailing behind them, looking far from impressed.

"Draco congratulations!" His father beamed, patting him awkwardly on the back.

"Oh Draco darling!" His mother exclaimed seconds later, squeezing Draco into a tight hug.

Draco pushed her off the way he used to when he was a teenager, embarrassed with a groaned 'mother'. By now, Astoria had reached them, and her stoic expression was unchanging. She didn't even offer a small well done, or say he'd played well (which would have been a lie, sure, but it's the thought that counts).

"Draco," She said tightly, looking more bored than anything else.

"Astoria." Draco replied, looking over her feature.

He looked up and saw his father glaring at him with raised eyebrows. _Get on with it_ , his expression clearly said. But Draco didn't want to, not for him. His mother, his poor, naïve mother who just wanted to survive, she didn't want him to do _this_. The whole time he'd been with Astoria, she'd looked at him with sad, kind eyes. She didn't want this for him at all, she just wanted to stay afloat. But the Lucius Malfoy name was tarnished, that was too late. The Draco Malfoy name, however was synonymous with Quidditch excellence and a big heart. His name was clean and good, and he could carry his mother on it as well. He knew he could...

"I'm really sorry," He said, not quite sure if he was talking to his father or Astoria. "But I can't do this!"

The sounds of his teammates continued celebrations were dull in the background has he gave his father, who looked angrier than he had ever before, back the ring still in it's box. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn't some sham marriage to a woman with the least personality in the world.

"Whatever you did to put the Malfoy name at risk, but that's your doing, not mine or Mother's." Draco said to his father, picking up his broomstick from where he had laid it once he got back to the ground. "And Mother, if you're unhappy, do something about it. Draco Malfoy's mother, mother of one of the best Quidditch players in the world? You didn't survive just on his-" Draco jerked his chin in his father's direction "-name."

With that, Draco left. He walked over to where his team were still stood, all of them laughing and joking around. He caught sight of Harry at the centre of it all, everyone patting him on the back, and joking about how he was somehow magnetized to the snitch. He looked so happy, his green eyes bright with joy.

Draco pressed passed everyone to him, and tossed his broomstick somewhere to his right. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before his could, Draco grabbed his head with both hands and pressed their lips together. At first, Harry froze in surprise, but after a few seconds he reacted. He kissed back with as much passion as Draco, and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist to pull him closer. Draco could hear the shocked expression from behind him, but he didn't care about that, about anything except kissing Harry.

All too soon, in Draco's opinion anyway, Harry pulled away to say, "But what about your reputation?"

Draco grinned and replied, "Fuck my reputation." Before recapturing Harry's lips with his own.

* * *

* * *

England qualified for the Euros after losing only one match (against Germany, but they were used to losing to them) and were still the favourites to win the entire tournament. They kept the same team throughout, as it was one of the strongest they had ever had (and because the co-captains asked to).

As for Draco and Harry, well, they celebrated in their usual way that night. Pansy rang Draco no less than a million times, leaving a voice mail that was 70% curse words and 30% congratulations. Hermione texted Harry asking if _Draco Malfoy_ of all people had been Mystery Guy all along. Harry didn't get a chance to reply, because Draco poked his head around the bathroom door to ask if Harry expected him to shower alone.

England's success was somewhat over shadowed by the revelation that co-captains Potter and Malfoy were secretly a lot more than that, but everyone agreed they made such a cute couple that no one much complained. And they were so freaking happy all the time, no one wanted to be the one to end that.

Spurred on by Draco's bravery in coming out (and in such a public way) Ron _finally_ confessed his feelings to Hermione in the most romantic way she thought he could muster. All of which she told Harry a few days later in a meeting, cooing over how sweet Ron could truly be, and enthusing about all the double dates they could go on now Harry and Draco were both out of the closet.

All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Waking in Time is kind of a parody of Sleeping at Last whom I listened to a hell of a lot when writing this.  
> The Minister of Magic is kind of like the dictator of the whole magical world here, and is voted for by the people in power, if that makes sense?  
> Bumphing: Sending a bludger towards the spectators, or the keeper when the quaffle is not in the scoring area.  
> Haverstacking: Sending the quaffle through a hoop without throwing it.  
> Stooging: Knocking the other team's keeper out of the way.  
> I started writing this in August, and it's taken me up until now to finally finish editing it all. I had a Beta for a short while but they were unable to do the entire fic due to having too much work of their own to do so this is mostly unbeta'd. It's based on a picture I saw a while ago but I can't remember where.  
> This is the longest thing I've ever written so thank you for reading, I appreciate it. Comments and Kudos are also greatly appreciated if you're feeling lovely.  
> The kiss at the end in front of everyone is inspired partly by Hit the Floor and partly by Shadowhunters.  
> I don't own any characters except my shitty OC's that no one cares about because they do very little to further the story.  
> Thanks again for reading, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas!


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